Cover story
by Magda1
Summary: Xover Highlander. Warning: this story is incomplete, ends with a cliffhanger, and will not be completed.
1. Jack

Disclaimer: Neither Stargate SG-1 nor Highlander is mine.

**Author's note**: Knowledge of the relevant fandoms shouldn't be necessary to follow this story, as I've tried to provide enough background on the relevant universes as the story unfolds. However, for those who have seen the shows, most of the adventures referred to here are canonical – main plot aside, the main exceptions for Stargate relate to Jack's background in NORAD, and the storyline around the Goa'uld Lanthos. The story is set in Season 7 just after Orpheus. Similarly, the Highlander storyline postulates a history for Joe and Methos after the series ends, and ignores the subsequent film.

Revised 10.01.04

**CHAPTER ONE: JACK  
**

Major Dr Janet Fraiser USAF, Chief Medical Officer of Stargate Command, looked up from her desk and stared at the clock, willing the hours to move faster, the minutes to fly. It was nearly midnight, normally one of the quietest times in her domain.

So far, so good, she thought.

No seriously injured airmen returning from off world, no annoying Colonels pestering her...."

Janet focused in on the constant gentle hiss from the air conditioning system, the hum of the lights, and the whirrs and clicks of the medical equipment. At this hour in the secret base deep below the officially recognized part of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, the only sounds were mechanical. The manmade interventions essential to preserve the human life that teemed within the concrete and metal bunkers of a former Titan missile silo were functioning normally, she assessed.

Janet brought her eyes back down to the page of the file she was reading. The night shift always tended to drag, she reflected, even here, in Stargate Command, Earth's frontline defense facility in the war against the Goa'uld, the evil parasitic race who dominated the galaxy. But slow was good, she thought.

"If you let me out, I could go and torture some geeks upstairs rather than your nurses," a voice suddenly interjected into the silence.

Janet nearly jumped out of her chair. She looked up to see Colonel Jonathon (Jack) O'Neill lolling against the doorway, and giving her his cutest, most ingratiating smile.

"Sorry to startle you," the Colonel said, not looking in the least apologetic.

"Hurrumph," she replied, pretending to clear her throat as she got over her momentary fright.

"You're supposed to be asleep in your quarters, Colonel," she said severely, glaring at him. He grinned back.

The night shift was quiet in the SGC, Janet reflected. Except when the Colonel was injured. This was the Colonel's eighth visit to the infirmary in the last three days. That she knew of - after all, she had taken downtime, even if he clearly hadn't.

Each time he visited he begged for clearance to return to work, even if only to light duties. Each time, she fobbed him off, urging him to go and rest - sleep even - in his quarters.

Instead, he had drifted around the base, spending his time annoying his team in their offices, pestering her nurses and junior doctors, and generally making a nuisance of himself. She was just about ready to give up the cause and let him out. But she wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Can I give you something to help you sleep, Sir?" she said sweetly.

"No, thank you Janet," he replied a little too brightly. "I've had more than enough of your pills and magic potions. I'm wide-awake now and feeling much better, thank you very much. I just need something to do. Other than tormenting your nurses, of course. All it needs is for you to clear me for duty," he replied pointedly.

"Well in that case, in the interests of retaining my staff, let me have a quick look at you," Dr Janet Fraiser replied, glaring at him in disapproval. "Although why you can't just try and sleep at this hour of the night, or rather morning, I really don't know," she added.

"I'm a night owl, Janet," he replied. "You know that."

* * *

Jack tried to gauge whether the petite red haired doctor was buying his act.

He knew her real concern wasn't his physical wounds.

But whether he was ready for duty or not, he was bored out of his brain. He had been in the infirmary long enough to finish all his stray paperwork, clear his email in-box, and finish all his old reports while still confined to bed. Within a day of his release from the infirmary, he had run out of busy work. This was now Day Three.

Of course, lack of something to do wasn't the real problem, he admitted to himself in the privacy of his thoughts. He wasn't going to be able to rest or sleep until he could prevent anyone snatching him from whatever he was doing without notice, and beaming him into some new torture. And for that, he needed clearance.

But if Janet realized he wasn't sleeping at all, there was no way she would ever clear him. It was a Catch-22 situation.

"So why are you so keen to get back to duty anyway?" Janet Fraiser demanded as she pointed him to a bed in the infirmary, and pulled a curtain closed around them. It seemed a pointless courtesy given the absence of anyone else in the vicinity.

"You usually do your best to get out of light duty shifts, which is all you'll be able to do if I clear you," she continued.

Jack suppressed a wince as Janet started doing her usual poking and prodding routine.

"Well, what with all the missions over the last few months, I'm behind on my rostered days with NORAD, and so I want to catch up before the General realizes," he replied. "I'm still waiting for the day when we can come up with a better cover story for us than Deep Space Radar Tracking research. Fighting alien parasites that take over human bodies and pretend to be Gods, and Deep Space Radar Tracking just don't seem to have a whole lot in common!"

Janet was looked at him skeptically.

"Besides," he added quickly. "Ferretti was telling me they have a new cool tool for chasing satellites in orbit - just like a video game he claims."

* * *

Video games! Janet thought. Well, that figured. As she wound the pressure cuff around his uninjured arm, the Colonel lapsed into silence.

Unusual, she noted. Normally Colonel Jack O'Neill bordered on being hyperactive. Still, maybe he was finally tiring. She started unwinding the Colonel's bandages to look at his wounds.

Mind you, she reflected, Jack's excessive energy levels probably stood him in good stead. The Colonel was, after all, the second in command of a busy and growing command. Although most of the planet's population remained in ignorance of the fact, Earth was at war. And despite his frequent complaints about paperwork, she knew he was a capable, decisive administrator who got through in an hour what General Hammond's backup staff took a day over.

But it was fieldwork, she knew, that was his first love. In his late 40s, the tall, handsome Colonel was old to still be on active mission status in any kind of covert ops team, let alone one that involved traveling through the portals called Stargates that provided virtually instantaneous links to planets across the galaxy.

For Colonel O'Neill was the leader of the team that generally took the first leap into the unknown, to the new planets they found and visited through the Stargate. And his team, SG-1, remained the Command's premier team. They easily outperformed any of the other of the SGC's 22 teams when it came to gleaning intelligence, making new friends for Earth, and finding technology to aid Earth's fight against the galaxy's dominant life form, the Goa'uld.

SG-1 – Colonel O'Neill, Major Dr Samantha Carter, Dr Daniel Jackson and Teal'c - were also leaders in another, somewhat less desirable regard: injuries. None of them were strangers to Janet's domain - Daniel virtually owned a bed in her infirmary, and the Colonel was a frequent visitor in his own right.

* * *

Jack really hoped his claims about Ferretti and video games wouldn't bounce back on him. For the truth was, Jack O'Neill, publicly certified scientist hater, with a well-known allergy to techno-babble, loved his occasional shifts in NORAD's Space Control Center.

The shifts had originally been set up to help keep him up-to-date with both the personnel and operational procedures needed to sustain his cover if necessary. And with the 'visit' to Earth of the Goa'uld system lord Apophis' ships intent on destroying them, it had been decided that NORAD's space threat detection program needed someone in the know on duty 24/7. The SGC personnel, with their need for a cover story, had been a perfect match. Not that he had embraced the idea wholeheartedly at first.

As Janet continued her ministrations, Jack felt his thoughts drift back in time.

_Several years earlier_

"But Sir," he said resentfully to General Hammond, "Why do we need to establish a cover story with another program that is itself top secret? Can't we just claim to be NORAD staff?"

"Don't be difficult, Jack," the General replied, his Texan accent to the fore. "You know how it works. Everyone gossips. The NORAD people know only too well that I'm not in their command structure and neither are you. Having our people rotate through up there to test out new techniques is a perfect way of establishing the credibility of the deep space tracking cover. And we do have a few things to test out!"

Jack glared across at his portly commanding officer. "Sir, even if I accept that, why do I have to do shifts in NORAD? Shouldn't we keep it to the active scientists, or at least the junior officers? I've got enough on my plate as it is."

Jack leapt out of the chair and started pacing around the room. He grimaced. "I'm not even pulling my weight with gate room duty at the moment, since I'm off-world so much, let alone covering all the things I should be doing as your 2IC."

"That's not an issue Jack. Having my 2IC as head of an active mission team means I can justify a staff officer or two to cover for you, and do some of the routine work of running the base. It works just fine."

Jack avoided the General's eyes and focused on his balding pate instead, as the General continued. "I need you to be free and available to take over from me when I want to go see my grand-daughters, or have to go to Washington. I rely on your advice on managing our allies and on strategy against the Goa'uld. And you do an excellent job on personnel selection and management."

Jack winced. He'd been momentarily flattered at the comments on managing their allies and strategy, but personnel management was not his favorite task. And some of his mistakes had had catastrophic consequences.

He turned back towards the General, and prepared to launch his next argument. Before he could start though, the General started talking again.

"This is not negotiable, Colonel. You need to maintain verisimilitude on your cover as much as any of us, and your presence will make the whole thing more credible. Given that you are off-world so much, I can hardly factor you into the Gate Room duty roster on a regular basis anyway."

It was true that monitoring the Stargate for unauthorized visitors, and if necessary locking them out using the titanium-based iris, was a 24/7 task. He wasn't about to give up though. The truth was, NORAD still held some bitter memories for him.

"But Sir," he said, "It's NORAD. I'd really rather not..."

The General interrupted him. "Let me make it clear, Jack that your most important job as my second in command is liaising with NORAD and the other conventional forces that we might need to draw on in the event of a Goa'uld invasion. The odd shift in NORAD will help you maintain those links. Besides, most of your former colleagues have moved on."

Including your former CO, Jack heard in his mind, even though the General didn't say the words aloud.

"Anyway, now that we're putting up our own satellites and monitoring system, my back-up needs to be rated for the Operations Center, and you're the only one here at the moment with the right qualifications to do that. Hell, you're far more qualified for this than I am."

* * *

_Current day_

Jack had given in at this point, touched by the General's confidence in him – after all, the General had read his file. And in his heart, Jack knew that the General was right. His PhD had been in astronomy, working at one of NORAD's ground-based optical surveillance sites, the telescope based in Hawaii. And along the way, he'd picked up more than a few computing skills - he'd written a lot of NORAD's current tracking software. His background had been why he was based in Colorado Springs in the first place, before the first Stargate mission, after he had retired - or rather been retired from Special Ops - after Iraq. He'd even headed up Space Command briefly. Not that he wanted his team to ever discover this, Jack reflected.

Mind you, it had been fun to play dumb when it came to computing. Pretending that astronomy was just one of his hobbies had been a bit harder. Sometimes he wondered just how he had managed to blindside Carter so successfully – she was after all an astrophysicist herself, albeit a theoretician. Perhaps Carter actually did believe that his home telescope was there so he could spy on the neighbors!

He had even gotten away with being able to work the 50" telescope in instrument mode they had needed to verify that General Hammond's message's times were solar flares, when the Gate had sent them back in time to 1969, without her asking any difficult questions.

Jack drew out the memory. SG-1 had been transported then to the base's past as a missile silo in the middle of the cold war. Back in time, fortunately, to a Cheyenne Mountain where a then Lieutenant Hammond had been on duty, waiting to receive a note from his future self asking him to help SG-1. A note that had given them two times. He had been able to use a telescope to confirm that the times were for solar flares, enabling them to find the Gate's location in that time-period, and use it at the right moment.

So despite his protests, the General had quietly arranged for Jack to do the necessary training, and then be tested for accreditation as the senior officer of the watch in both NORAD's Space Control Center and in NORAD's nerve center, the Cheyenne Mountain Combined Command Center, the hub of the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center.

Despite himself, Jack had quickly regained his interest in playing with the toys upstairs. The satellites, telescopes, radars and other goodies directed at the sky had been too big a temptation to ignore, notwithstanding all the doohickeys he got to play with around the galaxy.

All too soon, as the General had obviously expected, Jack had moved from resentment to enjoyment of his occasional shifts. He had made several friends among the diverse, multi-national and multi-service staff, and soon found himself drifting up top more and more often, particularly on the many weeks when his team was out of action because one or other them were injured.

At first, his off shifts up there had been just to hang out with friends when things were slow down below, or Daniel and Sam had chased him out of their offices once too often. Then, he had found himself drifting up just to test out the odd idea.

Now, somehow or other, he had become just as bad as Sam with her reactor, or their archaeologist-cum-linguist Daniel with his translations and artifacts – obsessive and compulsive.

* * *

The scratchings of her pen on the chart sounded eerily loud in the silent infirmary as Janet considered what to do. Colonel O'Neill certainly looked much better than he had the last time she had seen him.

All the same, it was far too soon for him to go back on duty. It was less than a month since a mad alien – the Asgard scientist Loki - had kidnapped the Colonel. Loki had been convinced that the Colonel's unique genes could save his race from extinction. So he had cloned O'Neill in a botched attempt to cover his tracks, and used him as a lab rat. The Asgard – in the form of his friend and ally, Supreme Commander Thor – had helped rescue his clone and deal with Loki.

But then, only a few days later, the Colonel had been beamed up to Thor's ship – only to find it had been captured by the Goa'uld Lanthos. Lanthos had tortured him unmercifully, resulting in his current injuries. O'Neill had, of course, saved the day yet again – but there had been a cost, and the Colonel was paying it now.

Still, she thought, while his wounds were obviously causing him some pain, they were healing well, and his vitals were close to normal. It was his mental health that she was more worried about: had the Goa'uld slave symbols branded into his arm also been etched into his soul?

If it had been any other patient, she wouldn't even have considered clearing him just yet. But Jack O'Neill was not normal. He had survived so much - the tragic death of his son, divorce, being swapped into someone else's body, being lost in time, being mind washed, being turned into an old man, tortured. The list just went on. He'd even died a few times.

Normally, he bounced back incredibly quickly. She was worried about the effects of his latest adventures though. Everyone, after all, had their limits.

On the other hand, he did need something to occupy him: even at the best of times, the Colonel was not an good patient. Oh well, she thought, a quiet shift in NORAD would at least keep him occupied. And it was a reasonably safe environment where other people would be around him. Surely he couldn't do much harm to himself as an observer in Space Control, watching man's left behind debris floating above the Earth?

"Well, your wounds are looking pretty good, Colonel, and your blood pressure and temperature are pretty well normal. You can leave the bandages off for now. And much as I feel responsible for the lives and safety of scientists everywhere, on this occasion, they will have to take their chances," Janet said.

"And at least if you are going up to NORAD you can destroy their equipment instead of having Sam blame me for you pestering her because you are bored," she continued.

"I hereby declare you fit for light duties, in the interests of all of our sanity. But no more than four hours at a time, and make sure it really is LIGHT duties. You don't look like you're resting enough."

"All right Doc," he replied, "I'll try not to let any satellites drop on your car."

"Go away, Colonel" she replied with a grin, "I've got real patients to see - patients who appreciate what I can do for them."

Smiling in triumph at his success at getting the medical clearance he needed to do an a duty shift in NORAD, Jack gave her a mock salute, and headed towards the lifts towards the publicly acknowledged - though only marginally less secret - parts of Cheyenne Mountain.


	2. Lt Adams

Rev 10.01.04

**CHAPTER TWO: LIEUTENANT ADAMS**

Lieutenant Michael Adams, newly minted United State Air Force officer, glanced up from his console in North American Aerospace Command's (NORAD) Space Control Center, to see a gray-haired man in blue battle dress uniform brushing his identification card on the outer door pass reader.

He wondered idly who the man was. Presumably, he was one of the off-shift personnel he hadn't met yet, come to do a bit of overtime.

So far, Methos, in his newly adopted identity as Lieutenant Adams, had been surprised at the ease with which he had fit back into the military way of doing things. He hadn't had any problems adapting to NORAD's Space Control Center.

True, armies made good hiding places for people like himself. Recruits tended to come from wide geographic areas, and from all sorts of backgrounds. And most militaries had a deliberate policy of moving officers around frequently. So with everyone virtually a stranger, and a continuous influx of newcomers, it was far easier to fit into a military base than into an established, civilian community.

Still, Methos tended to avoid the military whenever possible. He preferred a less structured life - and he liked the freedom to choose to flee rather than fight, if circumstances permitted. Of course, he thought, there are times when self-interest has to overcome instinct. And this had seemed to be one of them, he thought, reflecting grimly once again on his assessment of the evidence.

Even so, NORAD was proving a gentle induction back into the military life. His Space Control Center posting offered Methos an appealing mixture of academic - albeit application-oriented research - combined with the easy-going camaraderie that went with any kind of watch duty that involved long periods of boredom coupled with moments of adrenaline-filled tension. All in all, Lieutenant Adams was enjoying his new life.

But you need to pay attention if you want to keep it and succeed in achieving your objectives, he reminded himself. It would be months before he could be sure that he had really established this identity successfully.

Careful not to seem to be paying too much attention, Methos looked casually around to see if he could get any clues to their approaching visitor from the other staff in the Space Control Center.

His eyes roamed around the cavernous, rather empty room.

Half the room, where Lieutenant Jones was still intent on setting up some equipment, looked like an oversized electronics laboratory, strewn about with a seemingly random collection of electronic parts, devices, and computers. The equipment he was adjusting gave off a discordant offbeat song of beeps, set against the steady hum of the air conditioning and other equipment in the bunker.

The rest of the room, where he was sitting, looked like a miniaturized film-set version of NASA's mission control, with consoles mostly dark and empty now, in the early hours of the morning part way through gamma shift. From his central vantage point at the command console, he could see that the technical sergeant, Ian Spicer, was still intent on his panel, and hadn't yet noticed the visitor approaching. In the far corner, though, the other officer on duty had looked up, a happy smile creasing his hitherto expressionless face.

"Morning ladies, how's the space junk business going?" the gray-haired man said, finally escaping the guard desk and entering the room.

Starting to get out of his chair in order to formally greet the visitor, Methos considered the man walking towards him, still holding his ID card ready for entry into his log. Presumably, either a very senior officer, or perhaps a civilian contractor, if he thought he could get away with that as an opening line, Methos concluded.

The man wasn't wearing any rank tabs, but certainly looked more like a battle scarred, front-line combat veteran than a scientist.

Appearances can be deceptive, he reminded himself.

After all, he himself had played mild-mannered linguist and timid mortal researcher/immortal watcher Adam Pierson for almost 10 years.

A far cry from the man he really had to be, to survive, head still attached to his neck and sane (well, as sane as can be expected, he corrected himself) for over 5,000 years.

Inevitably, as they always did when he thought of the past, the suppressed memories came, a surge of paralyzed horror muddled together with gloating exultation.

_Yes_, he thought, _we must certainly hope that appearances can be deceptive._

He sure hoped that the eager young Lieutenant Adams, fresh out of grad school and officer training, though sharing the same face, bore no resemblance to the man who had once been one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, the rider on a pale horse known only as Death. A thing that men had had been forced to fall to their knees to, and, at his whim, either serve or die, for over a thousand years.

Methos shuddered mentally, quickly suppressing the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He was safe here, he reminded himself. Death was dead, long dead. No longer part of him. It was only a memory, a remnant of something that no longer was.

And for more immediate threats, the mountain itself, the hollow hill, was holy ground, the land being consecrated as all military bases were. No duels could be fought here to sunder his head from his body, bringing on the final death and the loss of his ancient quickening energies to some victor in the endless Game played by immortals seeking to be the only One.

Pulling himself together quickly, Methos mentally reviewed his current persona - you are young, eager, naïve, he reminded himself - and leapt to attention, making his hands twitch, seemingly hard pressed to resist the temptation to salute.

"Welcome to Space Control, Sir," he said rather breathlessly. Best to assume he's a superior officer he figured. If he's a contractor, no harm done. "Lieutenant Michael Adams at your service, Sir," he went on eagerly, in a mid- Atlantic accent. "Captain Marleau is at a meeting over in the Ops Center; - can I help you, Sir?"

He ran to a stop abruptly, waiting, as if just taking in the visitor's casual stance and the quickly suppressed grimace at his puppy dog-like enthusiasm.

"I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill," the man replied. "Just here to give my friend in the corner an early mark."

Methos attempted to stiffen even further, and started pulling his hand up into a salute.

The Colonel waved his hand down. "Relax, Lieutenant," the Colonel said. "Didn't you read the sign as you came in the Mountain?" he continued, trying to suppress a grin. "You know, the one that said you were entering a 'no hat, no salute' zone?" the Colonel said, pointing as he went on to his own insignia-less BDUs.

Inwardly, Methos, cringed. This was the worst part of a new identity, he thought, having to play the naïve new boy. Here I am, a 5,000-year-old immortal, and I have to pretend to be a 21-year-old geek. Oh, the disadvantages of never ageing he muttered darkly to himself.

"Sorry Sir," he replied stiffly, "I've only been here a fortnight".

"I would never have guessed," the tall, gray haired Colonel replied dryly. "Straight out of the Academy?" he queried.

"No Sir. PhD from MIT and then Officer Training School."

Now that the Colonel was in the room, Methos could see that although his BDUs bore no rank or name tags, he was wearing the identification patch of the mysterious SGC.

Despite Methos' discrete attempts to draw people out, no one seemed to know even what the initials stood for. All he got was warnings to avoid the project's personnel at all costs. So far, this hadn't proved hard, since the SGC officer of the watch was never the same from shift to shift, and all had tended to confine themselves strictly to the formal questions and answers required of them. They tended to ignore the lighthearted banter that was the norm amongst the rest of the Center's staff.

The smile on the face of the current SGC watch officer - which he noted had suddenly disappeared - was the first break in the pattern since he had been here.

Officially, he'd been briefed, the SGC was a project tasked with developing improved deep space detection and tracking techniques. It sounded logical - he'd been told their second in command, a Colonel, had himself developed some of the telescope data integration techniques that were part of NORAD's standard armory of techniques to track objects deep into space.

Around 30 SGC staff were rotated through each of NORAD's five shifts from alpha to echo, taking charge of the deep space detection console in order to keep them current, and test out the ideas and equipment being developed by the project. Several of the senior officers on the project also did relief shifts as watch commander.

But unofficially, the anomalies that surrounded the SGC fairly leapt off the page. He had learned in his first day orientation session that the SGC had its own, completely separate command structure, complete with a two star General.

True, the Cheyenne Mountain Complex seemed to have a lot of odd commands based in its conveniently secure confines. It was easier to hide things from the public eye inside a cold-war bunker built inside a hollowed out mountain, and safer to house some things inside a facility designed to survive a direct hit from a nuclear bomb.

Still, if all the SGC did was deep space tracking research, a Major General to head the project was surely just a little top-heavy.

Then, on his second day in the mountain nearly two weeks ago, the Canadian lieutenant whom he was replacing had muttered darkly that most of the project's members, though competent enough, didn't really seem to be scientists.

Methos, ever paranoid, had watched the SGC rostered staff on his shifts carefully since then. They certainly seemed a truly bizarre mix. Some clearly were scientists. But most of them had the tough, muscled look of combat hardened frontline troops. None of them, save those serving as replacement watch commanders, ever wore rank insignia. Yet occasional comments had revealed that some of them were disconcertingly high ranking for such an essentially routine function. Like a Colonel offering to handle a console in a command normally headed by a Captain...

Over the past week or so, Methos had worked hard to get gamma watch to relax around him. As a result, he had, despite the injunctions to secrecy that they had all received, managed to get them to open up one by one, and disgorge their particular pet theories on what the SGC was really up to. A common theme was that they were really Special Forces troops. And, Methos reflected, they certainly looked like they were straight off the frontline - stressed, edgy and sporting odd injuries.

But why use SFs, Methos wondered, to monitor the output of the telescopes that formed NORAD's ground based electrico-optical deep space surveillance sites for bits of space junk that might run into the shuttle, or satellites in orbit? Even if the US Air Force was still waiting for little green men to attack Earth (a reasonably popular theory in NORAD), did they really think they needed to be ready to fight hand to hand behind the massive granite doors that blocked the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain?

Another variant on the little green men theory was that they had brought the Roswell (or some other) aliens here many years ago, and were guarding them still, with the SFs on watch in case their compatriots ever came back to claim them. Methos sincerely hoped that this wasn't the case.

Still, if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that the SGC's research went well beyond deep space tracking. His watch commander, Captain Marleau's, theory seemed to center on Weapons of Mass Destruction research. Twice in the last year, he claimed, the massive granite doors that locked the mountain down and made it nuclear bombproof, had been closed.

Not, according to Marleau to keep terrorists or bombs out, but to keep the project team in - along with anyone who had the misfortune to have come in contact with them. Marleau claimed that there was a complete biochemical research facility down in the hidden depths that housed the SGC, and he had heard rumors from his predecessors of electronics warfare labs conducting weird experiments.

It had to be said though, that on Methos' brief observation, Marleau was inclined to excessive enthusiasm. He treated his claims with a degree of skepticism.

Methos pulled his thoughts back to the Colonel standing in front of him. The Colonel's eyes had been wondering around the room, looking with apparent disdain at the mostly darkened consoles.

"Oh well, Lieutenant," he said, "Good luck in your posting. I'll just settle down in the corner there, and do a bit of work as I keep watch. You just let me know if there's anything you need me to do," he said, moving towards SGC console.

Turning around to watch, he saw that the other SGC officer now seemed to be completely frozen, staring at the screen as if it was a medusa, turning him into stone. Coming back to himself suddenly as the Colonel approached him, he quickly reached down to hit the keyboard, and looked up at the Colonel.

"You can take the rest of the day off, Lou," the Colonel said to the SGC officer sitting in the corner, wearing a Class B uniform bereft of rank or unit insignia. "I've got a little penance to do for the General," he said.

"Sure, Jack, it's all yours. What did you do this time? Glad to see the Doc finally let you out of the infirmary, anyway," Methos heard Ferretti say, as he quickly logged himself out, and made way for the Colonel.

"It was easy peasy," the Colonel replied, grinning. "Just worked on driving the nurses nuts," he continued, as he carefully lowered himself into the chair that Major Louis Ferretti had just vacated.

"When the infirmary staff threatened to go on strike, she asked the General to keep me occupied," he said.

"Never mind, Jack," Ferretti replied. "At least she let you out. Anyway, its all quiet here - no satellites in danger of being hit, no space missions underway or planned, no Go...um UFOs heading for us so far...so relax, enjoy! I certainly will enjoy not being here!" he continued, talking as he moved towards the exit, as if afraid his ticket to leave would suddenly disappear.

As the Colonel settled into the console, Methos watched him saw him strip down a layer to his black tee shirt, revealing a wounded arm as he moved.

Methos dropped abruptly back into his chair, sprawling almost bonelessly for an instant, before hastily straightening himself. Desperately, he called upon the ingrained lessons of millennia in order to maintain his current persona, his eager beaver façade.

Despite his best efforts, he felt the blood draining away from his face. Methos fought to resist the grip of the nightmare that threatened to submerge him, as old, bitter memories surged up.

Shit, shit, shit he thought. I must be too late. For what he could see etched into the Colonel's arm were Goa'uld slave symbols.


	3. Playing the Colonel

**Author's note**: Revised 10.02.04

**CHAPTER THREE: PLAYING THE COLONEL**

Jack heard the distinctive thunk sound of someone falling heavily into a chair.

He looked up from his computer console in time to see Lieutenant Adams quickly draw himself up from the ungainly sprawl he had dropped into, to a more appropriately ramrod military stance.

Ah, the flexibility of the young, Jack thought.

He covertly studied the Lieutenant as he waited impatiently for his computer to finish logging him in.

Adams' hair had been reduced to a cornfield like stubble, courtesy, presumably of his recent incarceration at officer training school. But the style actually suited him, making his cheekbones appear more prominent, and complementing his brown, slightly bewildered-looking eyes. He was tall and lean, perfectly filling out his class B uniform. It was only the nose that jarred, Jack decided, its protuberance giving his face a slightly arrogant air.

But the real issue, Jack reflected, was simply his age. How could someone so terribly young looking be old enough to be in charge, however temporarily, of such an important facility as NORAD's Space Control Center? He couldn't help but consider the contrast - his own graying hair (no matter that he defiantly refused to disguise it), his creaking knees, and his increasingly timeworn face.

Still, at least this old guy has the advantage of the superior knowledge that comes with experience, rank, and membership of the secret little club that know about the Stargate, he comforted himself. He looked down again at his computer screen.

Abruptly, Jack snapped out of his reflections. The world around him dissolved, as if in a burst of light.

His eyes bulged, as if they had been ripped out of his control.

His body froze, as time seemed to grind to a halt.

His vision filled suddenly with the pattern of a star field, a view both familiar and clear - the clarity that came only from being free of Earth's atmosphere, in orbit. It was the view of a pyramid-topped spacecraft flying in front of him, though, that filled his mind.

He could see, now, that a ramp was hanging open from the base of the pyramid structure. Two figures danced on it, each clearly struggling to push the other out, while trying to remain attached to safety themselves.

Slowly, the picture dissolved, and was replaced with a figure recognizable as himself, sitting on the ramp, as the other body, suitless, tumbled away into space. A bubble suddenly protruded from his mouth, snarling: "Get off my ship."

Jack watched as the screensaver on his computer screen slowly dissolved, and restarted its sequence.

As the little movie had played out, Jack had felt himself catapulted from fear to fury - for just a second there, he had thought he was watching a real time camera image.

But he ended up at laughter, unable to help the release of an adrenaline- jagged burst, at this rework of one of the corniest moments of an otherwise enjoyable film.

The laughter let out the tension that had been holding him, allowing him to release the chair from the feral grip of his hand.

The grayness that had rushed in and filled him, dissolving his sense of time and place, started flowing back into the concrete walls. The walls resumed their watching stance once more.

Jack had actually watched the rerun of Air Force One last week with his team. As always, he had secretly enjoyed Sam's dour commentary, both for its biting content, and for the sonorous sound of her voice. This time, her rant had centered on the proper operation of the laws of physics, as the President (Harrison Ford) struggled on the parachute deck of his plane with a Kazachk terrorist, apparently immune to the vortex of wind and speed generated by the plane, and mouthed the infamous words, "Get off my plane."

They had taken to trying out its permutations all over the base, with Teal'c's "Get off my jello" the firm winner so far. He assumed their little game had been the inspiration for this particular piece of folly. As these pleasant memories trickled to a stop, Jack felt his anger - both at the fear the screensaver had momentarily engendered, as well as the security breach - rise up again. All the hard work to maintain the secret of the Stargate, all the sacrifices. He diverted his thoughts away from these well-worn paths. Still, he thought, Ferretti at least should have known better.

Now, he understood why Ferretti had been so anxious earlier, and so quick to leave. Jack sighed inwardly as his innate sense of humor reasserted itself. So much for giving one of his friends a night off. Ferretti knew him well enough to know that if it had been played out right - putting the screensaver on the Jack's own computer for example, rather than NORAD's - he would have enjoyed the joke with everyone else. But surely he knew Jack really couldn't let a breach of security like this go.

Well, Jack supposed, it was better to have caught this one now, rather than discovering that the little package had migrated to half of NORAD's computers, or beyond.

At least, he hoped he had caught it in time.

Jack leaned sideways to see if Ferretti had actually managed to make his escape complete. Unfortunately for Ferretti, the guard - no doubt bored out of his brain and desperate for a diversion - had evidently delayed him, and was only now holding out the book for him to sign out. Jack walked back to the doorway, and leaned, slouching casually across it.

"Um, Major, just a minute more, if you would," Jack said in his best 'innocence is mine' voice, and beckoned at him. "I seem to have a little problem with my computer that I think you can help me with."

Ferretti winced, and looked worried.

As well he might, thought Jack.

He watched as Ferretti walked r e l u c t a n t l y back over to the console.

"Someone been watching Air Force One a few times too often?" Jack asked. "I think perhaps a more standard screensaver might be more ...appropriate to our current location. If you would kindly remove it...," he continued dryly.

"Yes, Sir, Sorry Sir," Ferretti replied formally, looking a bit sheepish.

Jack waved Ferretti back towards the seat. As he did so, he noticed, too late, that while he had crossed the room, the other Lieutenant - Jones from his nametag - had drifted over from his equipment to peer at Jack's station, presumably investigating the reason for Jack's burst of laughter. He was now standing giggling at the little movie's finale. Even without the full context, it seemed that the screensaver was already gathering fans.

As he moved back towards the workstation, he saw that Lieutenant Adams had also joined the party, trailing him at a distance as he captured Ferretti, and returning with him to the console. The little crowd gathered around the screen, ready to watch the screensaver as it once again dissolved and repeated its sequence.

Jack considered ordering the gaggle of rubberneckers away, but the harm was clearly already done, and making a fuss would only make it worse. And it's not as if either of them could recognize a Goa'uld mothership, he thought. Jones finally stopped grinning in the face of Jack's glare. But he was apparently not sufficiently intimidated, because although he hurried away, he went not to his own desk, but to the Sergeant's.

Judging from the glances and whispers, he was urging him, too, to take a look while he still could. The more experienced Sergeant, after studying Jack carefully, wisely chose to decline the invitation. Lieutenant Adams, by contrast, was still standing, grim-faced and visibly twitching, next to the terminal. Clearly not a Harrison Ford fan.

As the sequence ran once again, the Lieutenant moved closer, filling the gap vacated by Jones. It obviously didn't help him to see it again, because his pallor visibly increased, and he looked as if he were about to faint, or perhaps flee.

OK, so maybe he could recognize a Goa'uld ship, Jack thought.

Then quickly dismissed the idea. Nah, that can't be it, he thought. He's just worried about his ass.

Let's face it, you didn't need to be able to recognize what you were seeing on the screen to see that a breach of NORAD's IT security protocols had occurred. And he is nominally in charge, Jack realized. A security breach like this was something that the officer of the watch - whether a newbie or not - should have caught.

And should now be dealing with. Except of course, that that might be a little difficult with a senior officer like himself standing in the way. Jack decided to take pity on him. At least a bit. Even if he didn't like Harrison Ford.

"So just whose brilliant work was this?" Jack asked Ferretti. "And don't say you did it all, because I know that you couldn't have."

"I'm wounded that you could so underrate me," Ferretti replied, grinning quickly, clearly recovered somewhat from his initial chagrin.

"But as it happens, Santa had a number of helpers this week," he replied. "Just a bit of harmless fun to help get through the watch."

"I see," said Jack, still glaring ominously.

He turned to Lieutenant Adams. "Don't worry Lieutenant. Major Ferretti here is going to take full responsibility for both creating and then concealing the use of unauthorized software."

"And he will ensure all the relevant reports are completed before the shift is over," he went on. "In fact, I can personally guarantee that it will take him at least four continuous shifts before he leaves the Mountain. I mean, it will take at least that long for him to personally verify that there is no unauthorized software on any computer in NORAD."

Jack turned the full force of his glare on Ferretti. The Major said nothing, but nodded his head acceptance of the rebuke and punishment.

The Lieutenant did not look notably reassured. Gazing at him, Jack had to pull himself away from the oddly mesmerizing expression in his now hard, piercing eyes. Jack quickly turned back to watch Ferretti's progress.

"No, don't delete it Ferretti," he almost yelled, his hand snaking out to grab Ferretti's, before the Major could hit the delete button.

"Someone is going to have to check that you idiots haven't managed to corrupt NORAD's systems, and if you have, work out how. Copy it onto a disk first," he finished.

Besides, Jack thought. Now that he had recovered from his initial shock, he really did want a copy of it for himself. And it really did deserve to be shared. Maybe the General would like to put it on his own computer?

"Yes, Sir," Ferretti said, clearly able to follow Jack's train of thought without too much difficulty. He made a copy of the program, then finished deleting it from the terminal and logged out once again. But then he made the fatal mistake of looking at Jack just a little too smugly, as he handed him the disk.

"Thank you, Lou," he said, in his softest, most nauseatingly nice voice. "Once you've finished with the paperwork, you can gather up Santa's helpers, and report yourselves to the General. I'm sure he'll be pleased to find you and your friends some additional tasks to help you find your shifts more entertaining in future, since you seem to be finding it so hard to keep your minds on the job," Jack said, his voice hardening as he reverted to superior officer mode. "That is, if you still have a job."

Jack suppressed his laughter at Ferretti's groan at this reminder of the need for confession to the General. He trusted that the General would come up with a suitably creative - but not too harsh - punishment for the other offenders. Polishing the gate ramp with toothbrushes perhaps?

"Off you go then" he said, pointing Ferretti to the door. "You can fill out the forms downstairs, while I inform Ops Center that you'll be doing a little security check on their computers later on."

A rustle of fabric made him realize that Lieutenant Adams was still standing, as if locked in place, behind him. He had lost his air of military slickness, and instead looked bemused, as if uncertain about what to say or do, after having what was probably his first command so completely usurped.

"Don't worry Lieutenant, no need to panic," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "It was only a minor violation of policy - it's pretty unlikely that they did any real damage."

"Besides, it really should have been caught long before you came on duty, if they've been working on it for several shifts," he said.

"Yes sir" the Lieutenant replied rather woodenly, and started to walk back to his own workstation.

Never mind, Jack thought, he'll get over it. He started making the phone calls necessary to clean up the mess.

Finally able to settle down to work again, Jack gritted his teeth while computer took seemingly forever to go through the tiresome login sequence yet again. Grimacing, he realized he should run a virus scan on his terminal, delaying once more his plans to work on his own pet project. Not that he expected to find anything wrong with the computer, given the skill levels of the SGC personnel involved.

Still, he thought, a stitch in time. He was never going to get down to test out his idea.

The thought was barely completed when the audible alarm on his computer went off; it's beeping quickly echoed by the central console. Drawing his focus together, Jack started interrogating his computer. As the data started spooling onto his screen, the words collision alert continued to flash in the background. This time, he thought, something really is out of place in the cosmos.


	4. Reclaiming the night

Revised 10.10.04

CHAPTER FOUR: RECLAIMING THE NIGHT

Methos' gaze swept across the huge black granite blast doors that marked the exit from the inner world of Cheyenne Mountain with relief. At last, he had safely reached the outside world. Desperate to get out, he decided not to wait for the bus to the car park. He turned away from the artificial glare of the Mountain's lights, and hurried down the tunnel-road towards the early dawn light.

As he walked, the icy, pine-scented air whipped through the tunnel from outside and wrapped itself around him, an antidote to the sanitized, somatized air of the Mountain's air conditioning system. It braced Methos, allowing him to wrap up and cover his anxiety, and to firmly draw Lieutenant Michael Adams on in its place. He evidently succeeded, for as he reached the Mountain's outer perimeter, he was able to salute the entrance guard with equanimity.

As he finally entered the gloaming, half-light of the emerging morning though, he couldn't help casting a glance behind him.

Intellectually, he knew that he was pretty safe for some time yet - days or even weeks in all likelihood. All of his instincts, though, cried out to him to run.

He touched the metallic talisman in his pocket for reassurance.

Surely they were after him by now? It wouldn't be hard for them to come and get him from here, he thought. But no one rushed after him; no one that is, except the rest of gamma watch, streaming out of the Mountain now, all clearly anxious to get home as quickly as possible.

Despite this respite, the craggy features of the SGC Colonel rose up again to haunt him. Methos tried to order his thoughts, but they kept swirling round in front of him.

He had panicked, he realized, chagrinned.

Hardly an unwarranted reaction, of course. The Goa'uld glyphs branded into the Colonel's arm, were, after all, MEANT to be a warning. It was just that it wasn't supposed to be aimed at or understood by him - or anyone else in NORAD for that matter.

He tried once again to wrestle the facts into place. His eyes swept the surrounding vista of rocks, stubble and looming trees; but his mind saw only the barbed wire barrier that prevented his escape into the wilderness.

As he paced, waiting for the bus to take him back to Patterson Air Force Base and his quarters, Methos found the incident pushing its way forward to the surface of his mind, demanding to be replayed so that he might understand it, fit it into the jigsaw. The sound of the alarm whooping from his console kept running through his head.

After a moment's struggle, he gave up, and went with the flow of the memory.

* * *

As the alarm pounded out its alert, O'Neill snapped out, "Shut it off, can't you, its giving me a headache." His fingers, though flew quickly enough over his console, eager to establish what had set off the noise.

"Number 14781 in the catalogue," Methos announced from the command station, "Otherwise known as OSCAR 11, amateur radio satellite launched March 1, 1984, broadcast frequency 145.825 MegaHertz."

Except that after faithful service for almost twenty years, it was no longer sitting in its allocated place in the heavens. Instead, it seemed that it was about to burn up in the Earth's atmosphere.

"One piece of junk down, a million or so to go," the Colonel muttered, voicing the space junk trackers creed, apparently unsympathetic to the satellite's user's plight.

"Old amateur radio satellites like OSCAR 11 are bound to lose their hold on geosynchronous orbit sometime, after all," he said, in response to their looks. "It's just that we should have been able to see it coming, well in advance," he continued, his voice tinged with annoyance.

The discussion was cut off when Captain Marleau came dashing back into the Control Center, rushing past the guard in record time. His initial survey of the room came to a full stop when he saw Colonel O'Neill, still seated at the SGC console.

"Sorry, Sir," he said. "I hadn't realized you were here. Do you wish to take command?"

"No, you go right ahead, Captain. I'm on light duty status, so humor a wounded man and let me just watch quietly from the sidelines," the Colonel replied.

As he shifted back to his normal duty station, Methos watched the resources being poured into tracking the satellite's fall. He knew that once a satellite's orbital wanderings started, its rate of decay was normally reasonably predictable months in advance, and typically happened after years in orbit. Issuing orbital decay warnings was, after all, the very meat and drink of the Space Control Center. They hadn't predicted OSCAR 11 though.

Methos understood that the satellite's unscheduled demise was an affront to their professional pride. All the same, Methos had thought that events of this kind were no big deal. There had been a couple of hundred explosions between pieces of floating junk in space that he knew of.

Yet it was being handled as if it was a big deal.

Other backup staff quickly poured in to join the party, bringing the Space Control Center to full alert status. As the analysis flowed, Methos - now fully into his role as Lieutenant Adams - was designated to pull up the tracks of some of the other objects in the same low orbit that OSCAR was supposed to be in.

The most likely explanation, he knew, was that the satellite had collided with some other piece of space junk loose in the vicinity. There were plenty of older satellites, spaceship parts, and other objects - objects that were continuing hazards to those still operating - wandering about unable to be controlled, and ready to cause catastrophic damage to anything that got in their way. The problem, though, was that nothing obvious was showing up: the system continued to be unable to identify the culprit.

As he worked, his life was complicated by Colonel O'Neill, who, despite his comment about watching quietly, issued a dry, running commentary on the proceedings, complete with quizzes, aimed apparently at educating the two Lieutenants – and occasionally their captain. Methos could have done without the not-so-subtle testing.

Marleau, though, his round face beaming with puppy dog like enthusiasm, lapped it up. Stuck yet again, he turned to the Colonel for advice. "Any suggestions, Sir?" he asked.

"Well, Captain, what were you thinking of trying," O'Neill replied, apparently reluctant to give in to the appeal to authority.

"Well, retasking our own network of sensors and telescopes to focus more closely on the area OSCAR 11 has been in, I guess," Marleau replied.

"Good call," the Colonel replied, encouraging him to follow his own judgment.

The closer focus quickly yielded some results.

It was clear that it wasn't just OSCAR 11: a whole little cone of objects at different heights in orbit had been displaced. It was just that OSCAR was the most obvious, since it was relatively large, and had been knocked not just out of its little favorable orbital niche, but out of orbit altogether.

"Perhaps it's a cloaking device," O'Neill muttered.

"Then how do we steal it from the Romulans?" Lt Jones responded, emboldened.

O'Neill grinned.

"Actually, the Romulans have already given us the cloaking device to help fight the Dominion - haven't you been keeping up with your Deep Space 9, Lieutenant?" he replied.

As they continued to work, attempting to eliminate candidates from their catalog of 10,000 or so space objects in orbit, data from a fascinating variety of sources appeared - sources that seemed to be deep in the solar system as well as in orbit.

Methos almost forgot his real mission for a while, so lost was he in the dazzling sophistication of the detection array, something well beyond anything he had expected. Until he realized it was a degree of sophistication that could only be explained by the use of alien technology. Not that there were any overt signs of this - it was just that the things these sensors could do were decades ahead of anything he had been taught at school.

Yet despite all the activity - and the technology - an hour later, no one was much the wiser. The obvious possibilities had all been ruled out.

Captain Marleau finally capitulated. He issued an urgent alert, and put tracking OSCAR 11's rapidly degrading orbit into the priority-tasking list for the tracking systems.

"OK folks," he said. "You can stand down from alert status now. I hereby declare the excitement officially over."

The Colonel, though, was not ready to call it a day, and finally gave up his pretense of detachment.

"All right kiddies - what can we learn from all this. Apply Occam's razor - the satellite moved, we can't find what caused it to move, ergo the simplest explanation is?"

Keen to ingratiate himself, and restore the credibility of his Lieutenant Adams persona, Methos took up the challenge this time and said, "There really is a ship out there with a cloaking device?"

"Well perhaps not literally," the Colonel responded, looking a bit tense. "It could just be hiding from us behind some of the other junk."

"Still," he said, "no reason why we can't try out something new. I've developed a technique based on something I recently read about, and I think it might give us some new insights. Why don't we see what we can find? It's what I came up here to try out anyway," he confided, looking at Marleau for permission.

As soon as the Captain nodded his agreement, the Colonel turned back to his computer and started working, completely reconfiguring the sensor array.

As he watched the Colonel play with the computer, Methos became increasingly excited. He quickly recognized that it was his work the Colonel was drawing on, his thesis topic - his contribution to Earth's defense.

He was tempted to say something, claim credit - but it was obvious that the Colonel hadn't matched his name to the paper he had read, and so he decided to wait.

It soon became obvious that the Colonel was adding a few variants to his approach, and was developing it into a full-blown shield detection technique.

Methos was impressed – he hadn't thought there were enough clues in the article, or a sufficient understanding of the technologies involved among Earth's scientists - to allow someone else to get this far.

As the Colonel set up the computer to re-analyze the data, though, Methos suddenly realized what was happening. His work could be about to give the enemy an extra advantage. He stared at his screen, unable to look away.

The Colonel was close, so close.

But he hadn't quite got it yet.

Almost without thinking, Methos acted.

These might be the good guys - but at the moment, the evidence was at best ambiguous.

Until he was sure one-way or another, he couldn't just hand them the key to seeing more, not without good reason.

Hurriedly, he decided to risk a little sabotage. Surruptiously, Methos altered some of the data stream, splicing it with another source to skew the results.

Somewhat to his surprise, the misdirection actually worked. After playing around for an hour or so, the Colonel was forced to declare that he had found nothing. His crestfallen look as he admitted it garnered him some sympathy from Methos - but not enough to make him cave in and fix the data back up for him.

* * *

As his memory of the crisis ended, Methos became conscious once again of his surroundings in the open air above the base. He remembered the aftermath. He had sat through the rest of the shift in suspense, waiting for the Colonel to realize what he had done. Sooner or later, he was bound to be caught. But he could do his best to make it later.

He had, very tentatively, with seeming modesty, admitted his authorship of the original paper. He had admired the Colonel's elaborations, and asked if he could perhaps help by re-analyzing the data.

After all, he thought, the Colonel was bound to make the connection with his name sooner or later. The Colonel had quickly agreed, and had been about to say more, when he was called away to the phone. Fortunately, the Colonel had had to leave the Center shortly afterwards.

He looked around towards the base again, as he thought about the Colonel's good-natured banter and dry humored barbs.

They certainly didn't fit anything Methos knew about either the Goa'uld or those who served them.

All the same, the evidence in favor of alien infiltration of Earth's defences was stacking up.

Which brought him firmly back to the present.

He considered his options.

Should he run now, before his sabotage could be detected?

No, he resolved, as he climbed onto the bus and took a seat. Not yet. He needed to think through what he knew again, in the hope that he could make more sense of it.

When the bus's engine finally started up, and the vehicle started moving down the road, Methos sagged against his seat in relief.

It had only gone a few meters though, when it suddenly stopped.

A familiar looking man, followed by a blonde woman, both with SGC patches on their uniforms, boarded, and headed towards him.

He stiffened, drawing in a deep breath.

Perhaps he hadn't got away with it after all.


	5. Revealed?

**Author's note**: Revised 10.10.04

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: REVEALED?**

Jack O'Neill resisted the urge to kick in the walls of the elevator.

He had been tired when he started the shift - repeatedly waking up in case you were about to be abducted by aliens did that to you. Not that he intended to let Fraiser or any of his team in on this little problem.

No need, since he had a solution.

Or so he'd thought.

Now he wasn't so sure. For four hours he had been calm and professional, maintaining his usual banter, as his plans had been repeatedly disrupted, or had plain out failed to come off.

He hadn't thought he'd unduly monstered the bright young things NORAD liked to recruit.

And for four hours, he had put up with the steady increase in the ache of his wounds.

Now, he had had enough.

He had hoped for a lazy shift in NORAD, a chance to try out the new detection technique - his Thor Detection Technique, as he liked to think of it.

First, though, it had been disrupted by Ferretti's little imbroglio.

Then, the unexpected decay from orbit of OSCAR 11 had meant they'd actually had to run the Alien Incursion Detection Protocol. A Protocol that had proved time-consuming and ultimately fruitless in this case. A good thing, he supposed, although the reason for the satellite's destruction was still unclear. He often wondered, now, why they bothered, given that the Asgard - and goodness knew who else - could float around in orbit without detection, and had done so apparently, for years.

The real issue, he knew, was the new detection technique. He had been so sure that the technique would bust them. But when he'd finally had a chance to try it out, the new technique he'd pinned his hopes on simply hadn't worked.

It was enough to make you weep.

Or kick the walls in.

He'd been so sure he'd got it this time.

Of course, if he'd realized just a bit earlier - or the kid had 'fessed up sooner - that Lt Adams was one of the author's of the paper he had based his approach on, they might have been able to work together and had it figured out by now. It had been a while, though, since he'd read the thing. He made a mental note to check Adam's personnel file - he was sure he would have remembered if it had passed his desk.

The final straw had come just as he had been about to go another round on the data. It was bad enough that the ache from his wounds had been steadily increasing over the last few hours. He really didn't need Fraiser to phone up Space Control to haul him out, even if she had mentioned short hours as a condition of his light duties status.

OK, well actually, she hadn't just called - she'd sent Teal'c up to ensure his compliance. It was insulting. Worse still that Teal'c had gone along with it. It was adding insult to injury. Literally.

He attempted to divert his pain and frustration into forward planning. The weight of the data memory stick in his pocket made him remember that not all was lost. He had the means to thwart Dr Fraiser's nannying yet, and maybe work out what had gone wrong with his experiment.

He just had to get past Teal'c first.

He bottled up his anger, and smoothed out his voice, trying to sound genial. He had been standing, he realized, at rigid parade rest. He made himself slump back to his usual casual posture, and attempted to bring his face back to an expression of polite attention.

"Thanks Teal'c," he said, attempting to get rid of his minder as quickly as possible, so he could get down to work. "I'll go and have a rest now, if you don't mind."

"Dr Fraiser has instructed me to ensure that you consume appropriate quantities of protein before you rest, O'Neill," Teal'c replied. "She was quite insistent on the importance of this in assisting your prompt recovery from your wounds."

Jack almost hit out at him there and then, aching arm or not. What was he, a three-year old? He kept himself under control, however, even as Teal'c directed him firmly towards the Commissary.

When he reached the counter, he even dutifully collected a tray of food that paid at least lip service to Fraiser's commands (ice cream, after all, is protein, and goes very nicely with jello).

He realized that the pain was getting worse when even the weight of the tray was enough to make his arm hurt. He refused to let the pain rule him.

"How is your recovery proceeding, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked as they settled down to eat, seemingly oblivious to the wall of sullen silence he had attempted to erect.

"Dr Fraiser seemed most concerned that you might suffer a relapse."

"She's just worried about her nurses," he replied. "Apparently they threatened to walk out if I came back any time soon. Of which, I might add, there is absolutely no danger."

Teal'c raised his eyebrow at him.

"I'm fine, Teal'c," he said softly, attempting to reassure his teammate. I just need a bit of rest."

Actually, he really did feel extremely sore and quite tired. If he wanted real sleep though, he really needed to make some more progress. He inhaled the reviving steam from his coffee, and took several large gulps in the hope that the caffeine would hit his system faster.

Conscious of Teal'c's steady gaze on him, Jack attacked his food, contributing a little clanging counterpoint to the clatter of people eating their meals, stacking dishes, and just chattering.

After staring at him for another moment as if trying pry open his head Teal'c started consuming his own tray-load of food.

They had nearly finished when Teal'c tried again. "You appear very tense this morning, O'Neill," he said. "What is occupying your thoughts?"

Jack resisted the temptation to speak the unpalatable truth. Instead, he put down his spoon from the last taste of ice cream, leaned back, and tried to pull together an explanation that would sound normal, but which might discourage further inquiries. He settled on the edge of the events that preoccupied him.

"The Asgard," he replied. "NORAD had a satellite drop out of orbit today for no apparent reason. They decided to try out this new technique. It seemed like it might be able to detect any Asgard vessels lurking around, you know, maybe give me a bit of advance warning before Thor – or anyone else - does his beam me up thingy."

He suddenly realized that his hands were waving around in front of Teal'c's face, echoing his agitated thoughts, and stilled them quickly. "They didn't find a thing though," he said.

Teal'c stared at him, clearly wondering how to pursue the real issue. Jack moved his eyes down and stared at a spot on the table.

"You are still disturbed about Loki's experiments on you, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked.

"Nah, it's OK. Dr Fraiser found nothing wrong with me. Apart from Thor's little marker on my genes of course," he replied, not looking at Teal'c.

But he knew he wasn't fine really. Teal'c's question set him off again. He just couldn't get rid of the itchy feeling that he was going to be beamed up at any moment. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

_It's not happening_, he told himself, as he felt a tingling sensation flit across his skin. He was NOT about to be beamed up.

It had only been a few weeks, after all, since the renegade Asgard Loki had beamed him up in his sleep, experimented on him, and attempted to cover his absence by substituting a short-lived clone. He would have gotten away with it too. The only reason it hadn't worked was that the copy hadn't matured properly, thanks to Thor's prior genetic tinkering. As a result, his clone had been - and still was - trapped in a teenage body. Mind you, he probably would have been over the Loki thing by now, if it hadn't been for his last little adventure with Thor. Jack's anger surged to the surface again.

A Goa'uld had captured his friend Thor's ship, and used the transporter to torture him – beaming him choice locations such as the boiling heat of a volcano, the freezing Arctic sea, and the poisonous gases of a chemical manufacturing process – then rescued and repaired him. Over and over again.

Maybe he ought to be working on a jamming device for the transporter beam, instead of a Thor Detection Device, he thought, depressed.

Certainly, at his current rate he might have more success.

"Asgard technology is very sophisticated," Teal'c said, piercing the surrounding clatter, and seemingly echoing Jack's thoughts. "The ability to detect their cloaking technology has eluded the system lords for many years."

"Yes, but Thor's given us a cloaking device for the Prometheus," he responded sharply. "That ought to be enough for us to be able to work out how to detect them."

Jack found himself almost shaking with agitation and fatigue. He took a deep calming breath to get himself back under control. Yes, he realized, control was the issue.

The real problem was that he simply resented Thor's cavalier attitude to the use of his transporter.

A resentment intensified by his experiences under the Goa'uld Lenthos.

No, don't go there, he told himself.

Quickly, he cut off the train of thought.

"Anyway Teal'c, you've done your duty now - I've consumed protein, now I really need to get some rest if you don't mind," he said impatiently.

Sensibly deciding that discretion was the better part of valor at this point, Teal'c bowed his head in acquiescence as he got up and walked out of the room.

Jack snuck into his office, and started to plan his mission. He really needed access to Carter's lab - he needed her supercomputer and optical parametric amplifier. Only the best toys for our Carter, he thought. This meant he had to find a way to extract Carter from her lab. It would require all of his tactical skills.

He logged in to his own terminal first, and checked the duty roster. He quickly established that no teams were off world, giving him a bit more leeway. Nor was Sam actually on duty, which in theory at least should make things easier. He'd lay odds though, that she was actually there anyway.

He used his personal clearance to hack into the security camera feeds. Sure enough, Sam was busily at work. Jack tapped once again into the base's systems, and carefully set up a Gate systems failure drill on the DHD computer. It was, after all, he reasoned smugly, the job of a good 2IC to run appropriate drills to keep everyone on their toes. Pushing the execute button, he sat back and waited for mayhem to break out.

It went like clockwork. The alarms rang, and Carter ran to the Gateroom. He grabbed the data stick, and headed for Carter's lab. Once it was all set, he could leave it to run and it would only take a few seconds to pick up the output later, but he had to do the programming from there. Half an hour ought to do it, he estimated, and the drill ought to keep them busy for at least an hour, even with Carter helping.

Once there, he sat down and got to work. He ignored the now steady throbbing coming from his arm, set up the equipment, and started programming the runs.

He was deeply engrossed in analyzing a couple of the data tracks. He noticed some odd patterns they were exhibiting, and was about to backtrack them to their sources, when he heard someone clearing their throat - her throat.

"Ss...Sir, what are you doing here?" She stuttered. "Shouldn't you be resting, Sir?" she said.

"More to the point, Major, what are you doing here. Shouldn't you be helping out on the drill?" he responded, hoping that attack would prove the best form of defense.

"Colonel Wajevsky banished me," she replied. "Said I was officially off-duty, and in a real situation could well be off-world. He insisted the drill had to be completed by the officers on-shift. I stayed for a while to observe, but then he decided I was covertly trying to help them."

Jack gritted his teeth. Trust Wajevsky to screw up his planning and take advantage of the situation to promote his favorite cause, namely grounding Major Carter in the interests of base security.

"Never mind, Carter, I'll just leave you to it, then," he said, turning back to the terminal to shut down the program and retrieve his data.

"What were you trying to do, Sir?" she replied. "Perhaps I can help."

Before he could close it down, she walked closer to the monitors and started studying the data still visible on the screen over his shoulder. He clenched his fists as she geared up to try and bedazzle him with techno-babble. He pushed his chair away, readying himself for escape.

"This looks like a tracking run from NORAD," she said, half to herself. "No, I see," she said, "This is a new configuration. Very elegant, I'd never have thought of that. Something odd about a couple of these data tracks though..."

As she spoke, she grabbed another chair, and started playing with the console. After a couple of seconds, she leapt up, and went to examine the programs he had already loaded on her other equipment, sitting ready to execute. He sat, frozen into place as she started to play with his data.

She turned to glare at him. "What were you doing with this, Sir," she asked, clearly annoyed. "You could have destroyed my system, not to mention some valuable data from NORAD. If you were trying to do someone a favor and run some data through our systems, just ask me next time. I'd be happy to do it."

"Besides, I'd really like to meet whoever it was that thought of this. I'd read that paper by Adams, Edwards and Watson, but I really would never have thought of this application of it, let alone this creative adaptation. It's brilliant. Can you introduce me to the scientist who did it?"

As she spoke, all the anger and frustration of the last few weeks boiled up inside Jack. His anger at Loki; and at Thor. The pain from his wounds from his last little solo mission, the mission that had resulted in his current wounds, when the Goa'uld had tortured him.

Old, bitter, memories welled up in him. Voices whispered in his head, calling him a charlatan; incompetent; a pseudo-scientist.

Most of all though, he remembered all the times he had played dumb for his team, using his supposed lack of knowledge to draw them out. He remembered all the times he had given her the vital clue, or quietly solved the scientific problem of the day without Carter ever even realizing that she hadn't done it all herself. There had been times when he'd all but rubbed her nose in it - when her dialing program had almost destroyed Freyr's planet, K'tau for example, and he'd saved the day. But she still hadn't got it.

Finally, Jack snapped. He stood up, deliberately looming over her menacingly.

"That would be me, Major, " he replied tautly. "I was the one who thought of the application of the paper to the Asgard shields, I would be the one who adapted the technique. So you have met the inventor, and I was running the program on behalf of myself."

She stood up, and looked at him with obvious pity in her eyes. He moved closer, invading her personal space to glare back, hard-faced. He gripped his hands tightly behind his back.

"As, I might add, I have run numerous other programs perfectly competently in the past," he said. "I am fully qualified at what I do, and do not require any assistance, other than access to the equipment, from you. If you have any doubts as to the safety of your equipment, I suggest you look up my record. You should find it quite illuminating."

His face, he knew, was burning red, his body coiled tense. His arm throbbed as the burns stretched tight.

In front of him, Carter was gulping, frozen in place with fear.

As she should be, he thought. She'd seen him almost kill a man in anger on K'tar.

Get a grip, O'Neill, he told himself. She isn't taking in a word you say. And you can't throttle her until she _does_ get it. Get out of here before you do something you'll regret.

Leaving the data flashing on the screen, he turned and stalked out of the office. As he turned the corner, he increased his speed, desperate to work off the adrenaline flooding his body. He'd really blown it this time, he realized. He'd let all the old shame, the old anger get the better of him.

True, it wasn't as if this was a mission, where maintaining his cover was a matter of life or death. He was no longer even sure why he continued to hide his scientific skills from his team. All the same, he really hadn't meant to let it all fly out.

Almost running now, he headed directly for the elevators. He needed to get out of the Mountain, away from his team and anyone who knew him.

This time the elevator didn't escape his onslaught.


	6. Old friends

Revised 10.10.04

**CHAPTER SIX: OLD FRIENDS**

As Colonel O'Neill stormed out of her lab, Sam stood, momentarily frozen in place by his caustic attack. She watched the malignant data flash across the screen. Absentmindedly, she shifted a few of the data tracks, and set it to rerun.

What on earth had gotten into the Colonel? He had attacked her when she had just been trying to help. He had made outrageous claims, outrageous statements. She thought back guiltily to her reaction to his use of her computer.

Yet surely, she had been justified?

He had, after all, been playing with a multi-million dollar piece of equipment. If he had broken it, he wouldn't have been able to laugh it off with one of his little jokes about her doohickeys.

All the same, perhaps she could have handled it better. After all, the Colonel had been badly injured on this last mission, and was still recovering.

Still, for a battle-hardened SF like him to suddenly claim computing and physics skills after years of getting even the most basic things wrong, and phasing out whenever she attempted to explain science - he was clearly seriously disturbed. He needed help.

Shaking herself into action, Sam dashed out into the hallway to chase after the man. She saw him get into the lift, and raced to catch up. As she reached the elevator, though, the doors closed smoothly, but inexorably, in her face.

Sam stood for a moment, catching her breath, and trying to decide what to do.

Colonel O'Neill rarely lost his temper, almost never lost control. He was the most self-disciplined person she knew. But when he blew, he could be extremely dangerous - to both himself and others.

All the same, to call for outside help would be overkill, she thought, even if he had left the base precipitously. After all, he hadn't attacked her physically. Even if it had looked like he felt like doing her harm.

That last mission must really have tipped him over the edge for him to go off like that, she realized. She wondered how Janet had missed the signs. How they had all missed them.

* * *

Daniel looked up as Sam came dashing, breathless into his office, grabbed his arm, and literally dragged him with her towards the elevator.

"Come on, we have to hurry. It's the Colonel - he's really lost it this time," she told Daniel. "I caught him playing with my equipment, trying to run some stuff for one of his NORAD friends I think."

"Well, Sam, he has been known to understand your dissertations on occasion," Daniel replied. "Even if he pretends otherwise. "Are you sure he didn't know what he was doing?"

"Daniel! Don't be ridiculous. This is expensive, sensitive equipment we are talking about. You know what the Colonel is like with my 'doohickeys'. Besides, when I offered to do the work for him, he really ripped into me - claimed it was all his own idea, he was fully qualified to do it."

"So what did he mean by 'qualified' Sam," Daniel asked. "Is he claiming to have miraculously acquired a doctorate overnight?" He giggled. "It's pretty hard to imagine Jack knuckling down long enough to do any graduate work unless it was in Playstation Studies. Still, perhaps he has been holding out on us?"

"This is serious, Daniel," she replied. "When we were talking he got that scary look in his eye – you know, like I was a Goa'uld that had just threatened his team. I really thought he was about to attack me before he stormed out."

Daniel sobered abruptly.

"You know the Colonel has been pretty quiet ever since he came back from Thor's ship," Sam went on. "I'm worried about him. I mean one moment he can't keep the names of the planets we visit straight, muddles up any scientific terms I use, and switches off whenever I try and explain anything scientific properly. The next moment the person who calls neutrinos Nintendos is claiming to know how to use highly specialized equipment. He's just not himself at the moment."

Sam was right, Daniel realized. The Colonel had had a tough run, and he had been too quiet of late. Maybe he did need some help to cope with everything that had happened to him.

"If we hurry we should still be able to catch him," Sam continued. "His injuries were pretty serious, and we don't really know much about what happened to him - he really shouldn't be out there in this state of mind."

Daniel followed her obediently, even as his mind raced. When they reached the top, however, it was too late. Jack's truck had already taken off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

* * *

"Oops," Daniel said. "Looks like you were right to be concerned, Sam."

Sam stared at her car in disbelief. It sagged next to the spot where the Colonel's truck had been parked, listing visibly with a punctured tire. How could the Colonel do something like this? The situation was looking worse and worse. She swung around to face Daniel, who shrugged.

"It's no use looking at me," Daniel said. "Janet gave me a ride in yesterday, my car's in for repairs."

Sam looked around in desperation. Then she spotted the base bus. It had already started moving. Quickly, she dashed over towards the road to cut it off, and started waving it down. Her uniform did the trick - it stopped to let them on.

Daniel and Sam climbed into the battered Air Force bus, and she started looking around, frazzled, for an empty seat for the ride to town.

As they walked down the narrow aisle, she watched the stiffening figures - it was unusual for a senior officer, in uniform, to take the bus, she guessed. A row of eyes seemed to follow them both as they walked self-consciously down the aisle of the bus.

* * *

As the two officers entered the bus, Methos - no, be Lieutenant Adams, he reminded himself - considered what to do. He was cornered.

"Jaffa, Kree!" the familiar looking man muttered. Methos froze, and glared at the man defiantly, though what he saw rose up from another era. He pulled himself back to the present though, and quickly realized that the command was completely redundant. Even though they couldn't possibly understand the words, as the pair moved down the bus, the other passengers were all stiffening to a pseudo attention. Was this ironic commentary he wondered or something else?

"Daniel," the woman of the pair replied, in a warning tone, responding presumably to his muttered comment.

Methos squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and pushed back the swirl of emotions he felt. He had already lived for more than 5,000 years. They hadn't all been good years - in fact, many of them had been years of pain and anger. Despite that, he still wanted to live. Not to be, it seemed.

But there were worse things than dying. Maybe he would live - as a Goa'uld host, forever imprisoned in his own body. He couldn't let that happen, he resolved, mentally shuddering.

I must force them to make it quick, he thought, remembering vividly just how creative the Goa'uld could be. Bring on the hemlock. No, better still - bring on Madame La Guillotine. But it was hard to see how to make it happen.

He opened his eyes again, and looked more closely at the pair. Then stared in disbelief as the face of the male of the couple triggered a cascade of memory.

The recognition was mutual, he realized, even as he schooled his face not to react. He could see Dr Daniel Jackson - archeologist and linguist - do a double take. Then Daniel's face suddenly softened.

* * *

"Adam!" Daniel said, as he and Sam settled themselves into the seats across the aisle from the young man dressed as a NORAD lieutenant. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Daniel watched as the Lieutenant pulled himself up to sit even more stiffly at attention then he had been, and gulp.

"Lieutenant Michael Adams, Sirs," he said, pointing to his name badge. "Do you know me?"

Adams, Daniel read. He frowned. "Oh," he replied, "mistaken identity I guess. You look incredibly like a colleague of mine, Dr Adam Pierson. Do you know him? Perhaps you are related?"

As Daniel watched the Lieutenant he realized it couldn't really be Adam - the American accent aside, the man had to be ten or fifteen years younger than Adam was now. And he certainly couldn't imagine the shy linguist working for the US military. Although of course, the same thing could once have been said about himself.

"I'm sorry Sir, but no," the Lieutenant replied. "I can't say I've heard of any Piersons in my family tree, but I guess you never know."

He looked somewhat affronted at the idea of a doppelganger, Daniel thought. All the same, he did relax slightly as he spoke.

As Daniel looked closer, he noticed the subtler differences - the light reddish gold hair color where Adam's had always been a dark, chocolate brown; the lean but muscled physique, where Adam had always looked thin and gaunt, draping himself in those outsized jerseys to hide himself.

He was tempted to probe further, and try and find out something of the young soldier's origins, but Sam was glaring at him, twitching impatiently.

"Sorry to bother you," Daniel said. "Just one of those weird freak similarities I guess. I could kick myself - I realize now that you couldn't be my friend - he's much older than you for a starter. It's just that you looked just like him when we first met," Daniel finished.

"Oh, and by the way, I don't rate a Sir - I'm a civilian specialist. Dr Daniel Jackson, at your service. And this is Major Samantha Carter," he added.

Daniel watched as the Lieutenant stiffened, clearly about to salute.

"As you were, Lieutenant," Sam said. "Sorry to have disturbed you," she added, her hand now on Daniel's shoulder, almost forcing him to turn back towards her.

"Ma'am," Lieutenant Adams replied, giving her a slight nod as Daniel, with an apologetic smile, gave in and turned away.

* * *

As the couple turned away from him, Methos let out a carefully controlled sigh of relief at this reprieve. As soon as he got back to his quarters, he promised himself, he was going to get thoroughly and completely drunk, and hope that alcohol would bring relaxation - and perhaps escape and enlightenment. Or at least temporary oblivion.

It seemed though, that his life was destined to get more complicated. What an extraordinary coincidence that Daniel should turn up here, able to recognize him. Still, such things had happened before, and it looked like he'd been able to bluff it out. He wondered what on earth Daniel was doing working with the military. While pretending to be politely oblivious, he listened intently to their conversation.

"Anyway, tell me more about what happened," he heard Daniel say.

"He was using my computer to do some data runs. I think he had gotten one of his NORAD friends to look for a way to detect Thor," Major Carter replied. "He was nearly there too, from what I could see, although I think he had corrupted some of the data."

As Carter spoke, Methos noticed that Daniel couldn't help throwing continuing glances at him. Not quite convinced, he realized. Bemused by the scrutiny - and the content of the conversation - he noticed his body had regained most of its earlier tension.

"When I questioned him on it, he claimed it was his own work, attacked me, and ran," he heard Carter say. "By the time I had recovered he was gone. We have to get to him." She shot a glance over her shoulder at Methos. Their eyes clashed: he had forgotten to pretend not to be listening, he realized.

"We have to help him," she added. Her voice faded to an inaudible whisper, and Methos couldn't hear any more, no matter how much he strained to do so.

Methos considered what he had heard. Was Thor just the name of some astronomical phenomena that they were studying? Or did the Major mean the Asgard Thor? The latter seemed far more likely given Daniel's knowledge of Goa'uld.

So if they were looking for Thor, were they looking for him as friend or foe?

He wondered what Daniel Jackson was doing here. It would be a terrible irony if Daniel - with his outlandish but true theories on the origins of the pyramids - had inadvertently released a Goa'uld in the course of his excavations, and unleashed it on the world. Yet the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit what he knew.

His hand reached up, involuntarily, to touch the skin behind his neck. He wished the buzz worked as a Goa'uld detector, as it did for immortals. Unfortunately, he knew, he would have no warning.

Methos had always assumed that the greatest threat came from the half dozen or so Goa'uld who had survived the great expulsion. For the last few millennia he had used the Watchers to keep track of the few surviving aliens that had been left on Earth, since for most intents and purposes, a Goa'uld was pretty hard to tell from a genuine immortal.

The Goa'uld weren't immortal in the same way that he was. True, the snake-like symbiote - no PARASITE, he corrected himself - did enhance the operation of the human immune system, enabling it to heal wounds and cure most diseases, at least for a time. At the cost of the host's control of their own mind and body.

Eventually though, the host wore out. Still, if the parasite picked a similar looking person, as they frequently did, it was likely to fool the Watchers, at least until the modern age of identikit photos.

And it had. The Watcher's had duly reported on a mysterious military unit that had somehow penetrated Seth's latest cult enclave. Left behind on Earth and apparently content to stay hidden from the other System Lords who had exiled him, Seth had fed on his followers, forming cult after deadly cult around the world.

Methos had seen for himself some of the victims of this latest group. He hadn't, though, seen any evidence of a dead snake. The logical explanation was that he had managed to move hosts, probably to one of the team who had penetrated his fortress. There had been a woman on the team, he remembered, giving the Major a speculative look. When Methos had read the report, and fitted it together with what he'd found about the military's UFO-related activities, he'd thought that he had all the pieces fitted together.

But now he realized there were other possible ways the Goa'uld could arise once more to threaten Earth. If a Goa'uld had access to a sarcophagus, its addictive, healing, brain destroying powers could prolong a host's life virtually indefinitely, provided they were prepared to stay in it. It meant that a Goa'uld could lie in wait on Earth, ready to emerge, even 10,000 years later - at least in theory.

So it had always been a risk that some hapless archeologist would inadvertently release a Goa'uld in the course of their excavations, and unleash them on the world. Is that what had happened he wondered?

Was Jackson himself now a Goa'uld, he thought, his skin crawling.

No, he certainly hadn't acted the part – although a Goa'uld could play a part if he had to.

The blonde Major on the other hand, seemed a much better candidate.

Methos forced himself to relax, and fixed a genial expression on his face. His hand, he realized, had been searching for the stiletto he normally wore strapped to his wrist. Unfortunately, it wasn't there; he couldn't carry it through the Mountain's security.

He started thinking through his next steps. He urgently needed more intell.

* * *

As Methos entered his quarters, he groaned. His bags were propped up in the corner, and there was a note under his door reminding him to check out with the base housing unit before vacating his quarters. Today.

In all the excitement, he'd completely forgotten that he was moving house today. Worse still, he had to be at his new apartment at 8am in order to let the movers in. He wondered whether it was worth it - he either was going to have to move quickly now, to deal with the situation or to run, before his manipulation of the data was discovered.

Still, he probably had enough time to see what the analysis of the data - the un-manipulated data that was - actually showed. He pulled out his laptop, and opened the program he had ready that enabled him to hack into NORAD's systems. He quickly pulled up the run he'd set up before he left the Space Control Center. As the results appeared on his screen, he stretched back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling.

Curiouser and curiouser he thought. For, it seemed, hidden in the heavens, a new, very large object had appeared, displacing everything in its wake. It wasn't shaped like a spaceship - or at least, not any that he was familiar with. And if its orbit was anything to judge by, it was out of control - a lot more satellites were likely to be falling out of the sky sometime soon. Judging from its random meanderings, the object had less than a week before it too, would come crashing to Earth.

He considered what to do. Fairly soon, NORAD was going to realize there was something out there, and everyone was going to spin into high alert. Once that happened, someone was going to catch onto his actions - if they hadn't already. Besides, Ferretti was out there already, checking all of the computers for any side effects from that screensaver. He probably only had another couple of days at most. He really needed to know a lot more, and fast. He was going to have to move up his timetable.


	7. Home to roost?

Revised 10.10.04

**CHAPTER SEVEN: HOME TO ROOST?**

When Methos finally reached his new apartment, he was, to his relief, still in time. There was no sign of a truck waiting for him. As he walked into the hallway, he saw, though, that an elderly man was waiting propped up against his doorway, his legs straighter than nature could justify.

"Joe," Methos said, a surge of pleasure pushing aside his tension momentarily. "It's good to see you".

He grabbed him into a bear hug.

"That's Dad to you," the gray haired man replied tartly, although it didn't stop him leaning into the hug. "I've read your Air Force application form. It's a lovely story."

As they walked inside, Methos went to retrieve the one chair in the apartment.

"For crying out loud, Methos," Joe said as Methos carried it into the lounge room. "How could you rope me into your back story? I mean, I'm supposed to be your watcher, not your bloody father. You remember the lines - observe record but never interfere in the lives of immortals - ring any bells?" He paused for a quick breath. "Or did I miss the part in the Watcher Manual where it says provide cover stories for miscreant immortals?" Joe said, as Methos set down the chair so that Joe could take the weight off his artificial legs. Before he could move out of range, Joe grabbed his wrist, turned it over, matching its pristine state against the symbols etched in blue on his own arm. "Or did all caution about HQ disappear when you had your tattoo removed?"

'I knew that the non-interference clause of the watcher code would get me in trouble some day', Methos thought to himself. Still, it's more often worked for me than against me.

"Come on Joe," he replied, his voice falling into the familiar modulations of the polyglot accent he had used as Adam Pierson. "You ARE, HQ, these days, or at least you were when I set up the identify. Or did I hear wrong, O mightiest of the watchers, First Tribune Dawson?"

"Retired now," Joe replied.

"Only by a week," Methos replied.

"Still hacking into the Watcher database I see," Joe responded indignantly. "But it COULD have undermined my credibility. Remember the last time, when I got shot. I nearly died for doing a lot less than supporting your cover."

"Well anyway," Joe continued, his voice now gruff.

Remembering his near death at the hands of the Watcher's for the crime of befriending the immortal Duncan Macleod, Methos assumed.

A death Methos' doctoring had saved him from.

"Couldn't you have made me an uncle or something? One long lost and somewhat antagonistic daughter I can live with, but two illegitimate kids is starting to sound a bit careless. And as for your being an astrophysicist - what's with the military stuff anyway? Love what you've done with the hair by the way!"

As he paused a second for a breath, Methos jumped in.

"Hi Methos, good to see you Methos," he said. Before Joe could respond, he went on. "And what was that about being MY watcher? I thought you guys had given up on me when I ditched Amy two years ago?"

"Yes," replied Joe. "Your putative half-sister was pretty pissed at you." He grinned. "But someone has to maintain your chronicle, and record your history for the future since you stubbornly seem to insist on sticking around. So who better to keep tabs on you than your long lost Dad?"

Methos groaned as he realized he'd given Joe an opening to segue back to his rant. He rather thought that Joe had been secretly pleased at finding himself appointed as Lieutenant Adams' long lost father. He knew that Joe tended to think of him as a son, despite their real respective ages. And it suited him to play the role. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at what he had led Joe into. But he had no choice - he needed his help. And it was for the greater good.

"You won't divert me from this yet, you know, 'son'." Joe responded. "And I bet you cooked up a really great sob story to go with it as well - what is it, illegitimate son by a childhood sweetheart, no doubt conceived the night before I left for Vietnam from what I could gather? Covered up as these things were, when the sweetheart dies tragically in childbirth, the young father never knowing?"

"Pretty close," Methos admitted sheepishly.

"Well anyway," Joe went on, "the truth is we lost you as you so obviously planned. Your postcards got Amy a few interesting junkets, although I wouldn't be expecting any thanks from her. The words 'wild goose chase' featured prominently in her reports."

"It was only when a Lieutenant Adams 'inherited' the stuff in your storage facility that we picked up the trail. So I delegated myself to be your watcher pro tem. And here I am."

"Here you are indeed," Methos returned affectionately, resting his arm on Joe's shoulder for a moment. Before the reunion could continue, however, there was a knock on the door. It turned out to be the movers, and further debate had to be postponed as Methos turned to start directing the disposition of his goods and chattels.

* * *

A few hours later, the apartment looked almost hospitable. Perhaps too homely, Joe thought, as he contemplated the cartons of books strewn across the floor; the Viking sword, helmet and amulets on the couch; and a row of beer bottles adorning the kitchen bench. Joe had gone out to do some food shopping after the fridge had been installed, leaving Methos to direct the traffic. When he'd returned, the spare room bed had already been made up, and the movers had finally left.

He went to the kitchen to transfer some of the food he'd bought onto two plates. Dinner and interrogation he thought, oiled by a few beers. Well, he could live in hope of extracting at least some truth, he thought. After all, if one thing was for sure, it was that Methos had wanted to be found. Which meant he probably thought he needed help. To get it, Methos would have to tell him something. Truth or lies though, he wondered. Grinning to himself, he realized he didn't really mind: either would no doubt be entertaining.

He called out to his 'son' in eager anticipation. "Dinner's up, MICHAEL. Come and have a bite, and tell your old Dad what you've been up to."

"Well," Methos replied. He had switched from his Adam Pierson accent to a new, mid-Atlantic voice, Joe noted. "In fact you're just in time. There's an open day at the Mountain the day after tomorrow, so you can come and take the tour, and see what I do for yourself. If I'm still at liberty that is."

Joe shook his head at the voice, the evil glint in Methos' eyes. He doubted the timing was accidental at all, and wondered why Methos wanted him in the Mountain.

* * *

Jack flung himself down onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling. His body was telling him loudly and clearly that he had to rest. He decided to allow his body to get at least some of its way. He would lie down for a while, but would resist being dragged down to sleep just yet. He tried suppressing all thought, in the hope that this would prevent the nightmares, and stared, enveloping himself in the white relief of the ceiling.

The pain - mental and physical - kept bringing him back though.

Jack knew he really should get up and take one of Janet's little pink pills. It would take the edge off the pain at least, and he could hope that it also knocked him out, beyond the point of dreams. And beyond the point where any pesky visitors could disturb him.

More likely, though, the pills would add a little psychedelic touch to his nightmares. Actually, he was almost at the point of welcoming adding a little color and light to his subconscious meanderings. They couldn't be worse than the real world extremes of nature and man that kept creeping back into his memories. But he really couldn't be bothered getting up. In fact, he wasn't sure that he could, his arm and body ached so much.

Despite his efforts at staying awake, he felt his eyes hanging heavily, his mind draining away, dragging him down to sleep. I know, he thought; let's count replicators jumping over a fence; no better way of staying awake.

He pictured the metallic bugs - the arch-enemies of the Asgard, and almost Earth's nemesis as well. He imagined them flowing out of the wall, and jumping over an imaginary fence in front of him.

As they jumped towards him, he zatted them each three times, so they would be disintegrated. One for Loki, two for Freyr, he thought, three for Thor.

Abruptly, his vision swam, and the wall threatened to close in and suffocate him. He was catapulted in his imagination from Thor's huge, eerily empty spaceship, to the cramped claustrophobia of the Russian submarine the replicators had taken over when he had been forced to crash Thor's ship the Belisknor into Earth's atmosphere. SG-1 had succeeded in destroying the ship - but not all of the Replicators that had taken it over. One had survived, replicated itself, and killed the entire crew of a Russian submarine.

But they had eventually succeeded in destroying them, he reminded himself. And stopped the Replicators next attempts to destroy the Asgard - and Earth.

The memory-induced panic stimulated a flow of adrenaline, which surged through him, clearing his mind, and refreshing him. Not, he suspected an approach to staying awake that would be recommended by Dr Fraiser. He made the imaginary bugs vanish.

Deciding that bed was not a good idea after all, he rolled himself over to the edge of the bed, and gingerly pulled himself up. Well, if he couldn't sleep, he could at least get some work done.

* * *

Jack walked into his study, and hunted in the cabinet for the article he was looking for, along with the notes he had previously made on adapting the technique to the SGC's unique needs. Here it was, Adams, Edwards, and Watson, "A new approach to the detection of certain stella phenomena."

He grabbed a couple of the texts he knew he would need, and headed for the lounge, where he could spread the material he would need out around him. And where it might be seen and perhaps silence any unwanted visitors, he conceded to himself. He looked at his watch. Should be good for at least another hour he decided. Just enough time to make sure he hadn't stuffed up something basic.

He went into the kitchen, put on the jug to boil some water, and ground some of Daniel's left-behind beans for a pot of coffee. As he waited for the water to boil, he idly read the newspaper he'd picked up on the way home.

"Baby Found Deserted in Park," read the headline. "Police are searching for the mother of a newly born baby found abandoned in Palmer Park yesterday. Police are concerned for the health of the mother," Blah, blah, blah, he thought, as he stopped reading.

He wondered how anyone could abandon their child like that, even before they'd tried to raise it. It was such a terrible crime – leaving a precious child without any parents to turn to, leaving them at the mercy of the foster-care system. He quickly suppressed the memory of his own unhappy experiences in the system.

How could anyone not treat a child as the most precious thing in the universe, he thought, pained as ever when reminded of his own parentless childhood, and of his son, Charlie, who had died after shooting himself with Jack's own gun.

No, think instead of the pain of the Asgard, he thought – unable to have children for more than a millennia, and now not even able to produce viable clones to hold their consciousness.

He tossed the newspaper aside in disgust, and picked up the Adams article instead in an effort to divert himself.

* * *

As Jack reread the scientific paper, the simple power of the complex insights summarized so elegantly in a few lines of equations gripped him again. If this is what this kid can do with only the knowledge available to conventional earth scientists, think what he could do with what we know from our allies and explorations, he thought.

Maybe he could even help us make sense of some of the artifacts left behind by the Ancient's he thought. Make some use of the material they'd been able to retrieve from his own overwhelmed brain after an Ancient database had been downloaded into his brain. After all, the technique he'd developed fitted in so neatly with an idea sparked by his own encounter with the Ancients.

Jack contemplated for a moment the mysterious elder race. The Ancient's had been one of the four great races in the galaxy, allies of the Asgard, the original builders of the Gate system. Until they had decamped - 'ascended' to a higher plane of existence. But they had left behind the evidence of their existence. Including a database of their technologies, of which he had, temporarily at least, been the hapless recipient.

Anyway, he thought, pushing aside his memories. We really need this kid in the SGC. Time to check him out a bit.

He went back to his study, logged in to his computer, and did a quick search on MIT to try and track down Adams' thesis supervisor. The article was listed on the Physics Department's publication's page. But none of the names on the article came up in the Department of Physics' staff lists. He looked up the contact details, and rang the Department's number.

Ten minutes later, he was starting to get a very bad feeling. True, he had only spoken to a ditzy temporary secretary - everyone, it seemed was out at a seminar, lunch or on vacation, or something. All the same, the secretary claimed never to have heard of Adams. Or of his co-authors. Could he have made a mistake about which University they came from, she had inquired?

He re-checked the article. M J Adams, J P Edwards and P R Watson, MIT it said. It was published in Physics Letters - a reputable refereed journal. It was hard to see how a faked up article could have gotten through the screening process in this day and age. He looked up the journal on the net, and quickly dashed off an email to the journal's editor asking for contact details for the authors, and copying it to MIT's physics department.

He wondered whether he should contact NORAD now, and start a proper security check on Adams. But it was probably too early to panic - after all, he could just have struck out on the secretary. And having a security flag check raised on him would not exactly help the young man's career. He decided to check his personnel file first, and see what came back from his emails.

* * *

Jack drained his cup of coffee, and glanced at the computer's clock. He grimaced. Not much longer before Carter would make it here, he realized, despite her car being out of action. Fight or flight? He thought.

He could have it out with her now, and get it over with. But it would probably finish their friendship - and the team - forever. It had taken a long time to regain SG-1's trust after he had pretended to go rogue in order to stop the NID from stealing technology from around the galaxy, even with the appeal to the authority of Thor, who had insisted he kept his team in the dark.

How could he explain to them now, after so long, the reasons for his ongoing pretense at being less than intelligent? How could he account for those tell me what it means in words of one syllable demands, those leading questions, the deliberate mangling of technical terms, and his apparent inability to remember the identifiers for any planet they visited – without telling them a lot more than he was willing to. And right this moment, he doubted that Carter was in much of a mood to listen to explanations in any case.

If, on the other hand, he played to her instincts as a scientist, and let her work it out for herself, there was at least a chance that she'd forgive him, he thought. He surveyed the books and papers strewn across his coffee table.

Definitely flight, he decided. Draping a coat around his shoulders, he opened the door, and headed out for a walk in the park.

* * *

Joe almost jumped when his cell let out its squawk, breaking the peaceful silence. He grabbed it and pressed the button quickly to avoid disturbing Methos, who had gone to catch some sleep.

"Yes," he grunted into the phone, wondering why he was being disturbed.

He'd been quietly working on his laptop, catching up on his email, and enjoying the sense of domestic tranquility that had come from seeing his friend again, helping him settle into this new apartment.

Of course, he'd be more tranquil still if he'd managed to actually learn a bit more about what Methos was up to, but on that front, he hadn't had much luck so far. Still, tomorrow was another day.

When quizzed about why he had joined the military, Methos had spun him some flim-flam about needing to do something a bit different to his last incarnation in order to fend off the boredom. Space, he claimed really was the next frontier, and he wanted to be in it from the early stages - not the Model T phase of development, which, he argued, was just ending, but the point at which it became a viable means of investigating the unknown.

Methos had then proceeded to enlist him to do some research that sounded much more in keeping with Methos' Adam Pierson interests than his current persona as Lt Michael Adams, astrophysicist. Methos had asked him to trace archeological digs - and publications - associated with a Dr Daniel Jackson, an old friend that he wanted to catch up with, or so he had claimed.

But before he'd really had a chance to press him for explanations, Methos had slipped off to bed, claiming he needed to get some rest before his midnight shift started.

The voice on the other end of the phone started speaking, dragging Joe back into focus.

"Got another couple of possibles for your retirement project," the voice on the other end of the line said. "And one right where you are too. Did you see the article in the paper about the abandoned baby found in the park?"

As far as anyone had ever been able to establish, immortals were sterile. And immortals were invariably foundlings, with no traceable biological parents. Joe was trying to analyze the data to see if there was any pattern about where they appeared.

"Yeah, I saw the story," Joe said. "I'll look into it. You got anything more to go on?"

"Sure, I'll send you all the details I've got - just give me a call if you need some help on the follow ups. Have fun."

"Yeah, thanks," Joe replied distractedly.

Joe had a theory about the locations where baby immortals were found. And he had just obtained one more piece of data to support it. Yes Methos, Joe thought to himself, I'm pretty sure you're a babe magnet.


	8. On alert

Revised 10.10.04

**CHAPTER EIGHT ON ALERT**

* * *

Joe Dawson eyed his aching legs, and debated whether to remove his artificial limbs. Before he could decide, Methos' landline started ringing. Deciding to let Methos sleep, he snatched it up.

"Michael Adams' apartment, Joe Dawson speaking," he replied.

"Can I speak to Lieutenant Adams please," a brisk alto voice replied.

"He's sleeping at the moment, can I take a message?" Joe said.

"Yes. This is Sergeant Le Beau. Can you let him know to come in to work straightaway? All leave is cancelled. He needs to get to the Mountain as soon as possible. We expect him in an hour."

The Sergeant clunked the phone down before he could respond, presumably anxious to get to the next person on her list.

Joe put down the phone and went to tap on Methos' door. He needn't have been concerned, as Methos answered straightaway - he clearly hadn't been asleep. Despite the immediate claim to the contrary.

"Go away, Joe, I'm sleeping. I'll deal with whatever it is tomorrow," he yelled.

"Well unfortunately it seems tomorrow is today. Uncle Sam wants you at work. Now," Joe replied, opening the door.

Methos groaned loudly as Joe gazed at him, and tried to huddle under the blankets. His bedside light, though, was on, and a book was propped open on the bed.

"They want you there within an hour," Joe said.

"So much for sleep," Methos replied, running his hand through the stubble on his head. "Could you do me a favor and call a cab for half an hour's time. I'll just take a quick shower and grab a cup of coffee."

Half an hour later, Methos reappeared, this time in uniform. Joe had to admit, he looked good in it.

"I've no idea when I'll be back, Joe," Methos said. "If this is what I think it is, we could be on full alert and have to stay on base for a few days. If you find anything from your research, leave a message on my cell. I'll try and give you a call when I'm on break."

He started walking out the door, and then turned back guiltily. "Oh, and if there turns out to be a little problem with my cover story or anything, just stick to your story. After the Air Force came asking about me, you investigated and found me. This is our first meeting – you can find copies of some emails we exchanged on my machine. The password's ROG5000"

Methos dashed out the door and into the taxi, as Joe reflected that of course Methos knew what the Watcher's nickname for him - or rather for the mythical Methos - was. All alleged Methos sightings were marked Really Old Guy and a number.

* * *

Methos had just finished signing in at the front gate when the guard waved at one of his companions to come over.

"Sir, if you'd just follow Corporal Ligetti here," the guard said. "The Command Director has asked that you join the senior officers briefing that is just about to start."

Puzzled but intrigued, Methos duly followed his escort to the Combined Command Center briefing room. This wasn't the way they'd do it if he'd been caught, he thought. On the other hand, he was sure that he hadn't yet met any of the five Command Director's - the Brigadier-General or Colonel for each shift - who were the real bosses of most of the six thousand or so people who worked in the Mountain. The Command Director headed up Cheyenne Mountain's inner sanctum, the command center that Space - as well as the Air and Missile defense operations centers - reported to.

As his escort deposited him at the briefing room and waved him towards a seat, Methos scanned the milling crowd, who were grouped in small clumps around the room, chatting. The buzz of the chatter in the room had a nervous edge to it, and he noticed that everyone's eyes kept flickering to the light flashing in the corner, indicating that they were at DEFCON 3. They weren't about to push the red button just yet - but they were getting ready in case they needed to. He wondered what had happened.

As his eyes scanned the room, he noticed that he was by far the most junior officer present. He recognized the watch commanders from his own, as well as the other shifts from Space Control, as well as a few of the faces from the mysterious SGC who had rotated through Space Control, but that was about it.

Then the blonde major from the bus – Carter, he remembered - walked in. The cold, hard-eyed expression on her face made him mentally shudder. He ran a hand through his hair, as if to wipe away the lingering fatigue from his long and now apparently endless day.

He was about to go and greet Captain Marleau, his own watch commander, and see if he knew anything, when a weedy looking Staff Sergeant came into the room, and requested that everyone take their places.

"Attention for the Command Director," he called, and they all stood.

Methos looked on, impressed by the formalities of the proceedings. This was the first time he'd sat in on a real command briefing, at least in this incarnation. His jaw nearly dropped though, when he saw who the Command Director actually was. Colonel O'Neill, his tormenter from the last shift in Space Control, walked calmly to the podium, closely followed by a huge black man dressed in BDUs.

This time the Colonel was wearing both rank tabs and a name badge on a camouflage battledress uniform. His aide or escort however wore neither rank insignia nor a name badge. Instead, contrary to protocol in the Mountain, he was wearing a baseball cap. As he moved past, Methos could see that both he and the Colonel did have identical shoulder patches, proclaiming them as SG-1, whatever that was. Their team name, he assumed, noticing as he looked around that most of the SGC people wore similar patches, but with different numbers on them.

The Colonel walked to the podium at the front of the room and started talking.

"OK folks, listen up. I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, second in command of the SGC, and for the next few hours Command Director," Colonel O'Neill said, waving them to their seats. "We've got a little problem and I need you help to solve it," he continued.

"Earlier this evening, a satellite was knocked out of orbit," the Colonel continued. "As most of you know, that's the second one in as many days. Only this time it wasn't a harmless amateur radio satellite, it was an armored military satellite, HAL III, with self-defense capabilities, and lots of valuable hardware, belonging to the SGC," he said.

Well, Methos thought, maybe that explains why I'm here. I can see another try at detecting whatever it is that is hiding up there coming up.

"Its demise puts a major hole in our outer space detection network," the Colonel went on.

Methos grimaced. He hadn't realized that his mystery object would hit an SGC satellite next. For that matter, what the hell was the SGC doing running satellites in the first place? He'd thought NORAD managed all space detection and defense satellites.

"Now Uncle Sam doesn't like losing his doohickeys," he Colonel drawled, "so General Jumper has instructed us to go to DEFCON 3, and to activate the HAL protocol, which puts the Commander, SGC in command of the Mountain."

Doohickeys? Thought Methos. Not exactly the language you would expect from a Goa'uld lackey.

The Colonel grinned evilly, and suddenly, his voice twisted into a high, fake, German voice.

"Unfortunately for you, my little nucleus of human survivors, for the moment at least, that means you're stuck with me, since General Hammond is still on his way back from Washington."

He gave them all an evil grin, cackled, and grabbed his hand as if to stop it from doing a Nazi salute, doing a passable imitation of Dr Strangelove. Most of the SGC people burst into laughter, and a fair proportion of the rest of the group grinned, and visibly relaxed a notch.

He wondered how to interpret this.

If a Goa'uld was coercing the Colonel, this was even blacker humor than the original film had been. If, on the other hand, it was just the Colonel in his natural state, you had to wonder whether Earth was in safe hands.

Either way, it wasn't reassuring.

Abruptly, the Colonel's voice returned to normal, and his face resumed a more serious demeanor.

"For those who aren't familiar with the protocol," the Colonel went on, "it means the base is on full alert, and there will be at least two shifts on duty in Space Control Center at all times. No one leaves the Mountain until further notice. You are also on notice that you are likely to become privy to top-secret compartment k and x information. "

"Those of you who haven't yet been briefed on these classifications will be as soon as possible. In the meantime, be advised that this information is not to be discussed with anyone outside this room unless you know that they are duly authorized. And it must not be discussed for any purpose except as required to effect your duties."

Methos pondered what he was hearing. For one thing, it was clear that whoever was controlling the SGC was far more deeply embedded in the military command structure than he had realized.

It was breathtaking really, he thought. If he was right, alien invaders had managed to put in place a protocol that allowed them to just casually take over North America's primary command and control center at any time. Tackling them was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. If only he knew for sure whether he was right.

Methos watched as the Colonel worked the room. Although the Colonel didn't look as if he'd rested much since their last shift in the Space Control Center, he clearly was awake enough to turn on the charisma.

"And you'll know what I'm talking about when you hear or see it, "he said. "Just don't waste any time arguing about whether it's possible or not!"

The officers in the room were hanging on his every word. When he mentioned DEFCON 3, they had all involuntarily glanced at the flashing light on the wall. And although the Colonel's jokes had taken the tension in the room down a notch, it hadn't taken the edge off their concentration.

Well, almost all were hanging on what he said. Major-maybe-a-Goa'uld Carter, he noticed, looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. She, too, was wearing an SG-1 patch. Putting all the rotten eggs in one basket, he wondered.

"Now we need to work out what to do next. Captain Peters, can you brief us on the status of HAL III please," the Colonel concluded, and went to take a seat in the horseshoe formation that made up the room.

Unlike most of the SGC people, Peters actually looked like a scientist. His sun-starved skin was complemented by heavy-looking glasses. His shoulder patch lacked the identifying numbers of the other SGC personnel.

As the SGC Captain started briefing them on the technical and weapon specifications of the HAL satellites, Methos kept one eye on the screen displaying the specs, and one on the Colonel, trying yet again to puzzle him out. As the Captain continued though, he found himself paying closer attention to what Peters was saying.

The satellite specs now displayed in front of him made it clear that the SGC did a lot more than deep space radar tracking. And the technology they were using was well beyond anything that could have been developed on Earth at this point in time.

This could be good or bad, he thought. Good if they were truly defending us. Bad if they were acting on behalf of a Goa'uld, whether a system lord or a renegade.

"We lost telemetry at 1930 hours," he heard the Captain say, "And haven't been able to re-establish control yet. NORAD confirmed loss of orbital integrity at 2000 hours."

As Peters wound up his briefing, Methos could see the Colonel looking around to see who should go next. The commander of echo shift in the Space Center raised a hand to get his attention.

"Captain Fournier," the Colonel invited.

Fournier was from the Canadian army; a manifestation of NORAD's bi-military status, and his mild French-Canadian accent marked him out even further.

"Space Control located HAL III at 2000 hours, after the SGC advised of the communications loss," Fournier said. "It was the same story as OSCAR II," he continued. "It was not in the right orbit, and our initial tracks suggest that something on the same trajectory as for OSCAR could have hit it. However, we have not actually been able to find any object in the right spot to account for either HAL or OSCAR's demise."

He clicked a picture onto the screen, displaying the rapidly decaying orbits of the two satellites.

"All right everyone, assessments and recommendations please," the Colonel said. "Any suggestions?"

Methos sat back and listened, fascinated, as possible explanations and ripostes flew like sword thrusts in one of his practice bouts with Duncan Macleod. This was better than the West Wing, he thought, as all sorts of bizarre theories came out to play.

It had been almost a millennium since he'd participated in something at this level. Not that he was actively participating. Still, he realized, he missed it.

After a few minutes, though, O'Neill drew the largely fruitless speculation to a tighter focus.

"All right everyone, doesn't look like we are making much progress. Seems like it could be almost anything. So what do we do next?"

Captain Marleau raised his hand, his round face beaming. He'd been quiet up until now, leaving the discussion to the more senior officers. Now, though, he started speaking eagerly as soon as the Colonel nodded.

Trust Marleau to try and suck up, Methos thought. Trying to recoup some ground with the Colonel, he assumed.

"I'd propose using two teams in Space Control," Marleau suggested in his drawling Southern accent. "One devoted to upgraded threat surveillance, and one to track the two satellites and anything else that may have moved out of orbit."

Jack nodded his agreement. "OK Captain, you and your watch lead the threat detection team. Let me know if anything out there even twitches," he said.

Methos watched the smirk grow on Marleau's face.

"Oh, and Captain, you'll need to find a replacement for Adams here; I need him for something else," the Colonel said.

Methos sank in his shoes metaphorically as the whole room turned to look at him. Oh joy, he had been noticed. Marleau did not look pleased with him. Fortunately, however, the Colonel moved quickly on.

"Peters, you work with Captain Marleau and see if we can shift some of the other HAL's in, to reduce the gap in the screen in the short term," the Colonel instructed.

"Major Close here and Beta watch can be the tracking team," the Colonel continued, pointing to the red-haired female Air Force Major sitting opposite him.

"O'Neill, do you not want someone to go up and take a look at the satellite and see if it can be repaired or retrieved?" the large black man said.

As his distinctive accent hit Methos' ear, he turned to look at the man more closely. He blanched. The 'man' was clearly a Jaffa. He caught a glint of gold from under the cap. And not just any Jaffa, but a first prime it seemed.

"You're right, 'Murray', "Colonel O'Neill said.

He could almost hear the quote marks wrapped around the name, and wondered why they were bothering to conceal his origins. So much for the theory that these might be the good guys, he thought. Jaffa were not known for working with the Asgard - or anyone else for that matter.

"We'll prep for a launch. If you would take responsibility for the arrangements?"

Methos cringed at the deference in O'Neill's voice.

"Commander Doull, I'll need you and alpha watch to find an optimal launch window and project the Box for them please."

The Jaffa bowed his head to the Colonel in acknowledgement, while Doull, a female US Navy Lieutenant Commander muttered a 'yes sir' in the background.

Methos could see Marleau's face fall, as he realized that he had volunteered too early. Projecting the box was supposed to be the absolute highlight of working in the Space Control Center, and the most prized responsibility. Whenever a shuttle mission was planned, NORAD had the task of finding a launch slot and trajectory that minimized the risk of collisions with space junk. They then kept watch over a projected piece of space - the box - around the spacecraft, in order to warn of any impending collisions. Their advice could delay launches. While a shuttle or other mission was in progress, they were constantly in touch with Mission Control in case the spacecraft needed to take evasive action.

The Colonel mentioning his name jerked him out of his reverie.

"Meanwhile I want to work on finding whatever it is that is kicking our satellites butt," the Colonel said. "Lt Adams, that's yours. I'll be working with you once I come off duty as Command Director. In the meantime, you'll work with Major Carter over there. Report to me after we've finished here."

Major Carter, he noticed, seemed less than thrilled at this assignment, given the daggers she was shooting at the Colonel. "Shouldn't we be trying to contact some of our allies, Sir," she said.

Methos noted the careful emphasis on the word allies. You mean bosses, he thought. System lords, Gods, Deities, Grand Pooh-bahs.

"No need for that yet Major, " O'Neill replied. "I think we can look after ourselves for a while."

"Yes Sir," she replied stonily.

Interesting, thought Methos. Just what is the power structure here? Clearly something to watch, perhaps something he could exploit.

"OK kiddies," Colonel O'Neill said, "Any other ideas? Any questions?"

"Well if not, go to it!" he concluded, and stood up. "Dismissed," he said.

* * *

As Methos got up and wondered over towards the Colonel, 'Murray' or whatever his real name was turned around and marched off. He wished again that he could see the symbol on his face, to see whom he was up against. He'd always disagreed with Sun Tzu's claim that the enemy of your enemy was potentially your friend. In his experience, the enemy of your enemy was just as likely to kill or enslave you, or use you as bait.

"Ah there you are Adams," the Colonel said. "As I indicated, I want to form a team to try and see if we can see if there is something up there hiding in orbit. I'm convinced your technique holds the key. We can have anyone you need brought here, military or civilian, just tell us who you need."

"I think I'd work best by myself, Sir, if that's alright. I really need to sit down and analyze the data and perhaps tweak the array a bit," Methos replied thinking quickly.

"This is going to take a while," the Colonel replied. "I'd prefer to set up a full team. We can always wind it back if we crack the problem quickly. What about your thesis supervisor, Professor Edwards wasn't it?" he said.

The penny dropped for Methos. The Colonel had obviously been doing some checking. And it looked like his cover wasn't quite holding up. He really wished he'd checked his email before going to bed.

"That could be difficult, Sir. He's not a US citizen. He actually works at Unisa, the Open University of South Africa. He and his wife, my other co-author, were only at MIT on sabbatical. "

Methos stopped talking, and hoped that this would be enough to hose down the Colonel's suspicions for the moment. The Colonel was hard to read however.

"Yep, that does sound a bit tricky to arrange. Never mind. As soon as the General returns, I'll join you. In the meantime, I'd like you to work with Major Carter. She's familiar with the Space Control Center's facilities. If you think of anyone else who might be able to help, let the Major know and she'll arrange it. "

Yet another unraveling thread on his rapidly deteriorating cover, Methos reflected. He wondered how long it would take them to discover that Professors Edwards and Watson didn't actually exist. He pulled himself together as he saw that the Major had come up and overheard the last part of the conversation.

"It would be more efficient if we were to work in my lab, Colonel," she said, her voice carefully level. "You have already loaded the OSCAR II data onto my computer."

"No, Major. You will have to work topside for the moment; the Lieutenant doesn't have clearance yet. Besides, I'll need you here for the launch briefing."

"But, I..." The Major cut off her protest quickly and changed her response. "Very well, Sir," she said coldly, and stalked out of the room.

After a glance at the Colonel, who waved his dismissal at him, Methos hurried after her. After a possible Goa'uld.

Normally Methos took joy in experiencing the new things that unfolded, the progress mankind made with each new decade, each century, each millennium. Other times, though, he wondered if his five millennia of existence were a joke of the gods: instead of being reincarnated with the hope of improving on his last life, as the Buddhists believed, he was forever condemned to experience history's repeats. He really hoped this wasn't one of those times.


	9. chapter 9 Up and away

Revised 10.10.04

**CHAPTER NINE: UP AND AWAY**

Jack paused outside the guard post for Space Control for a moment before entering, and attempted to regroup. The briefing session had taken a lot out of him.

His face, he knew, looked haggard. There was a limit to the stimulant effects of coffee and chocolate, and he'd reached it. Hell, he even _felt_ old and gray.

Still, it had been worth it, he thought. The command group had come together well. And had left alert and ready to do their jobs, but not unduly alarmed.

Well, better get on with it, he told himself, and plastered a friendly expression onto his face.

As he entered Space Control, there was a little flurry of reaction. Quickly, he waved down the people who had noticed his entrance and were stiffening to attention.

Out of courtesy, he looked around for the alpha shift commander, Lt Commander Doull. She wasn't hard to find – the light-brown working uniform that marking her out as Navy amidst the sea of blue and green made her readily identifiable. Jack signaled her to continue what she was doing, and turned to survey the room, ignoring the creak of his joints as he moved.

As he looked up, he saw that two of the giant overhead screens were still blank. A third tracked the descending orbits of the two errant satellites, HAL III and OSCAR II. The fourth screen just showed a countdown clock, labeled time until shuttle launch.

He watched the count turnover - T minus sixty-two minutes and thirty seconds.

Jack strained to hear the soft audio commentary from Patterson Air Base that he knew was accompanying the ticking counter on the screen, but a healthy buzz of conversation was blotting it out.

Most of the attention in the room, he saw, was on the fifth screen, which showed two projected launch paths. Unfortunately, each of the pathways showed a little shuttle icon intersecting a red triangle with a NORAD catalogue number displayed next to it, identifying the piece of space junk that could get in the way of the flight path.

As Jack watched, the lines representing the projected launch trajectories changed to avoid the space junk, and the small group huddled around the command station let off a little cheer.

Their looks turned to chagrin, though, when another triangle appeared on the screen in the way of one of the flight paths.

The group huddled back down to play with the computer once again.

* * *

Methos ignored the buzz of activity going on around him, stared down at his data, and considered how best to play his hand.

So far, it had been relatively easy. His earlier session with Major Carter hadn't been particularly productive. They had discussed what detection equipment the spacecraft should carry and some possible techniques to try with the data. She'd then told him to set up the data runs from OSCAR II and HAL III and see if he could re-analyze it. After that, she'd gone off, leaving him to his own devices.

Mind you, he wasn't complaining about lack of supervision. As he'd told the Colonel, he preferred to work alone - it made it so much easier to cover his tracks.

It was almost like the good old days in the Watchers he reminisced – masquerading as a researcher hunting for the elusive Methos, he had been able to make damn sure no one ever found him.

Now, he could make sure no one ever found his manipulation of the data. It would only take a few more minutes.

"Any progress, Lieutenant?" Major Carter asked.

He almost jumped in his chair in surprise, but caught himself in time, and straightened in his seat instead.

"Relax, Lieutenant," Carter said, sounding faintly amused. "You don't have to get up for me. So have you gotten anything?"

So far, the Major had pleasantly surprised him with her courtesy.

But then, the Goa'uld loved to deceive.

"Not really, Ma'am," he replied, trying not to look nervous. "I've only just pulled the first results of the OSCAR II data off the system."

"Let me take a quick look then," she replied.

He debated what to do, but there was no real choice. He moved to the side so she could see the screen. A look of recognition quickly flitted over her face.

"This is Colonel O'Neill's data isn't it?" She said.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.

She muttered something he couldn't quite catch.

He was about to ask her to repeat it when he heard a loud clapping sound. The looked up, to see Colonel O'Neill calling for attention.

* * *

Jack winced as a jolt of pain ran up his arms and then through his body.

Next time use your voice to get attention, he told himself, as people started looking up and moving towards him.

Jack eyed Carter.

She didn't look happy.

Never mind, he thought. He had a peace offering in mind that might help improve Carter's mood.

He hoped.

They'd barely talked since she had discovered him in her lab - and he had lost his temper. But maybe this would help.

He really couldn't let Carter join the F-302 crews. Like it or not, she was still his 2IC, and he needed her here, particularly with the General still not back. Besides, the F-302s had their own crews now, fully trained and operational, and ready for just such a mission as this.

Of course, he couldn't blame her for wanting to go anyway. Especially as he HAD sent Teal'c.

No, she couldn't go up with them, but he could give her what he hoped was the next best thing. He really hoped she'd take his offering as an olive branch.

* * *

"Everybody who is not alpha shift or SGC, please clear the room," Jack ordered. "You are on rest break until further notice, take advantage of it while you can."

He sat down carefully, determined to rest his weary bones while the crowd sorted itself out.

Until he noticed Lt Adams heading out the door. He looked distinctly happy at the prospect of escape too.

Jack levered himself up again, ignoring the aching pain, and moved over to stop him leaving.

"Not you, Lieutenant, you can stay, " he said, tapping the young man's shoulder. "I need you to keep working on finding what it is that is out there. You can listen to the briefing we're about to have and watch the launch, and then continue with your work as you can."

"Yes Sir," Adams replied, looking less than thrilled.

Maybe Carter had been pushing him too hard, he thought. She certainly had a tendency to be single-minded and demanding of her staff when it came to her work.

All the same, Jack wasn't convinced. Any young officer worth his salt should be pleased to be part of the action, pleased at being noticed by senior officers. If it had been him back in his younger days, he would have been dragging his heels, reluctant to leave the control center and thrilled at the reprieve.

He added the odd reaction to his list of things that didn't quite add up when it came to Adams.

He had nothing concrete, Jack realized. Yet he couldn't suppress the nagging sense of suspicion the young officer engendered in him.

Take the young Lieutenant's preference for working alone, he thought.

But maybe he just didn't want to share the credit, his mind countered. And his concerns about dragging in non-US citizens who lived halfway around the world _were _halfway plausible.

Well, whether Adams liked it or not Jack planned to add his professors to the team. Major Davis was already chasing down the professors' availability. Jack wasn't expecting an answer for a few hours yet though - it was still very early morning in South Africa.

Maybe his quirks are just the baggage that sometimes goes with genius, Jack reflected. And he had considerable experience - with SG-1 - in putting up with such eccentricities in the interests of getting results. The truth was they needed Adams.

All the same, he _really_ must read the Lieutenant's file and start a proper background check as soon as possible, he resolved.

* * *

A few minutes later, a drastically reduced crowd had settled down again, and was looking up at him expectantly.

Jack did his best to look back reassuringly. Well, he thought tiredly, at least he could off load the hard work of running this briefing onto someone else, someone who might even enjoy doing it.

"Okay folks, listen up, he said. He glanced up at the countdown clock. "As you hopefully know, we are now at T minus 60 minutes for an F-302 launch. As per protocol, alpha shift will be running the box. Major Carter here will be launch director, operating out of the SGC."

He saw Carter jerk up from the seat she had been sitting in, and start moving towards him. Her eyes were wide open, her lips compressed. He started worrying. What was her problem now? Hadn't she always wanted to be part of the NASA kind of thing?

"I'd like to do the pre-launch briefing here now, though, and I've got a hook-up with Patterson Air Force Base set up to commence shortly."

He turned to the young USAF Captain seated at the Coms panel. "Captain Winberg, if you would enable the link please."

"Could you hold on that for a moment please, Captain," Carter interjected.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, and waved her to move off to the side of the room with him.

"Sir," she said stiffly, as soon as they were out of earshot. "I'm really not qualified to be launch director. Shouldn't someone trained, from Space Control, play that role?"

Oh ho, he thought to himself. Had she taken the time to look up his file?

"Sorry Carter, it has to be someone from the SGC," he replied. "Someone who knows what the F302s can and can't do. I can't do it, not while I'm in command of the whole Mountain. You're it."

Maybe not, he decided as he took in the shocked look she shot him in response to the idea that he could do it.

Her face tightened, but she bit back whatever retort had sprung to her lips.

"Very well, Sir," she replied grimly.

So much for the olive branch, he thought.

* * *

"Open the link, Captain," Jack said as they returned to the group. A moment later, the remaining screens activated, and the displays changed.

Jack mentally checked off the five screens. As well as the projected launch path of the F-302s, the countdown clock was now overlaid by a view of Teal'c and the other F-302 crew at Patterson in a small briefing room. On a third screen, he could see the Combined Command Center, the Mountain's nerve center, where he would be operating from shortly. The SGC, currently staffed by Captain Peters, and Space Control, where he was now, made up the rest of the montage.

He turned to Carter, and gestured her to take control of the briefing.

She scowled at him, and started flicking desperately through a pile of briefing papers in front of her. Oops, he thought, should have given her a little more warning rather than just dropping her in it.

As the seconds ticked by on the clock above their heads and the circle of eyes stared at her, he thought about whether and how to step in and rescue her. Fortunately, she found what she was looking for.

"T minus 59 minutes and thirty seconds," the voiceover from the screen said softly.

"All right everybody," Carter said. "We are now at T-59 minutes, thirty seconds, and counting. Weather report please."

She sounded tense, Jack thought. But at least she had started

"The summary report from the weather center is as follows," Lieutenant Griffiths' voice said, coming from the Command Center started coming out from the speakers. "Conditions on the ground are expected to be clear and calm for the next twenty four hours. Solar activity is currently low; however, a large sunspot poses a threat of M class flares, with a probability of 70 in the next 24 hours, and a 30 probability of an X class flare."

"So we have good launch conditions with some risk of solar flare activity that could limit our window up there," Carter responded. "What about space junk?" she went on smoothly.

Jack was relieved to see that she had apparently recovered her professionalism, and was looking more engaged in the process. He wondered if he should attempt to lighten things up a bit. Probably not.

"We have a projected optimal flight path," responded Lt Commander Doull. A wisp of her black hair escaped the twist at the back of her head as she leant over the computer she was standing nearest to. She pushed a button to update the display.

"The main risk is our mystery object," Doull continued, pushing the strand of hair back out of sight. "Major Close is currently hypothesizing its location to be here," she activated a marker on the launch path diagram and looked enquiringly at Carter.

"We haven't made any progress on detecting it yet," Major Carter replied shortly. "Lieutenant Adams is still setting up some computer runs, so we might have something soon, but no guarantees. You need to assume you are going in blind Teal'c, "she added.

Jack winced at her failure to use Teal'c's cover name, but decided it probably didn't matter with this inner circle group. The alpha shift in both Space Ops and the Control Center were fully briefed on the SGC's work. The pilots were SGC. And the SGC people of course knew exactly who Teal'c was.

He looked at the Lieutenant to see if he had noticed, but if he had, Adams wasn't letting on. Jack turned his face back to the screen, to see Teal'c and rest of the F-302 crews nodding in understanding.

"Airspace control report?" Carter continued.

"Colorado Springs and environs has been declared a no-fly zone for the next three hours, except for the General's flight," Lieutenant Griffiths said from the Command Center. "We are currently clear within a 100 mile radius."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Carter responded.

"All right then, any questions anyone?"

A chant of 'No Ma'ams' flashed between the screens and around the room, making it sound like stereo.

"Sir," she said turning to Jack. "Any words you'd like to add?"

Jack pulled himself back to the briefing - for a moment there, his thoughts had started to drift, as exhaustion had crept over him.

"Thank you Major. Look just to say, be careful out there guys. We haven't got a clue what it is we are looking for, and what capabilities it has. At this stage, we really need Intel. Avoid any engagement if you can. Understood?"

Teal'c responded on behalf of the two crews. "Understood O'Neill," he said.

"All right people, you have a go to proceed, at T minus, urh." He glanced up at the clock to confirm the time. "T minus fifty. Everyone, to your posts please."

Jack nodded at Captain Winberg again and the displays dissolved and reformed. The Patterson briefing room was replaced by a view of the two F-302s on their launch pad, with the countdown clock overlaid on the screen, ticking down inexorably towards the launch.

* * *

Methos gazed, riveted at the scene as he finally saw the 'spacecraft' they were about to launch. Death gliders!

They were about to launch death gliders.

He had just sat through a seemly perfectly normal seeming Earth style pre-launch briefing. Well almost normal - the pilots for most US Air Force missions didn't have obviously Jaffa-type names like Teal'c. Still, on the surface, it had seemed so normal. Only to find it had all been a prelude to using Goa'uld technology. These people weren't just embedded in Earth's military; they were totally integrated with it.

It was terrifying.

He thought again about what it was that could be up there. From what he'd seen in the data, it was large. Whatever it was, it was hard to see it as a worse threat than the one that was right in front of his nose. And it could, after all, belong to a friend – in fact, right now, that seemed the most likely scenario. He had to make sure that the Goa'uld didn't get to it.

He glanced back at the wannabe goddess Carter. She was huddled together with a small group including Colonel O'Neill and the alpha watch commander, Commander Doull. They seemed to be arguing about something. Again, he thought, thinking of the little contretemps they had all witnessed at the beginning of the briefing.

Except that this time they seemed to be arguing about him, he realized, based on their frequent glances in his direction. Carter, he saw, was waving at the countdown clock, and gesticulating. Methos watched as the little group of senior officers glanced over at him once more, and then split up. Colonel O'Neill left, presumably to head back to the Command Center, while Carter strode towards him.

"Look Lieutenant," she said as she reached him, "I looked at the Colonel's OSCAR data before, and found a few data tracks transposed. I've already rerun the data on my computer downstairs, but haven't had time to take a look at the results. We really need to see if we can find something up there before the launch. It'd be a lot faster if you come down with me, and work in my lab. The Colonel has agreed, provided you have an escort at all times. Is that okay?"

"Certainly, Ma'am, not a problem. I'll just take a copy of the rest of the data," he replied.

Definitely not a problem, he thought to himself elated. Surely, it couldn't be this easy.

"Alright, "she said, "But hurry it up, I have to get to the SGC's Control Room ASAP."

"Yes Ma'am, " he replied, his fingers already flying over the keyboard.

Methos couldn't help feeling high, and hoped it just passed as the level of excitement appropriate for a young Lieutenant being given a special treat. He'd spent days planning out how he was going to get into the SGC. And now he was getting a free ticket. He quickly copied his data, grabbed the data stick, and went over to the Major who was now pacing impatiently near the door.

* * *

Sam stalked out of the Space Center fuming. The Colonel had looked as if he could barely stand up through most of the briefing, and obviously wasn't thinking clearly. Well, as clearly as he usually thought anyway, such as that was. It was irresponsible of him to stay on duty in these circumstances.

And to drop her in it like that, making her look like a fool in front of a group of her peers. Well, at least she'd recovered quickly once she had gotten started.

Sam looked around angrily as she headed for the lift to the SGC with Lt Adams in tow. It was a big risk bringing someone uncleared and unbriefed into the SGC. They really couldn't afford to waste any more time though. The fact was that they needed to be able to find whatever it was that was up there, or they could waste hours they didn't have on the search.

And as she had pointed out to the Colonel, she could hardly keep a close eye on the Lieutenant - his most recent orders - if he was in Space Control and she was in the SGC running the launch.

Besides, it was hard to see the Lieutenant as a serious security risk - he was barely 21, and in order to work for NORAD he would already have had to go through a reasonably thorough vetting process. The Colonel had hardly been in a position to take a hard line on this anyway, she reasoned, given that he had let Adams sit through two highly classified briefings. In fact, if anyone was a security risk right now, it was the Colonel himself.

As they reached the guard desk in front of the elevator to the SGC, Sam broke off her thoughts for a moment, in order to focus on sorting out a temporary pass for Adams, and to sign herself and Adams in. As they entered the first elevator, she glanced at the Lieutenant, but he seemed content to stand silently. In fact, from the moment they had approached the desk upstairs, he had been tense and alert, clearly reveling in his chance to see the Mountain's inner secrets.

She let her thoughts coil back to the problem of the Colonel. She tried to set aside her anger at his treatment of her, and assess his state of mind objectively, but it was hard to do. Leaving aside his uncharacteristic behavior that morning, he had looked totally exhausted at both briefings. And this thing of his trying to play at being a scientist was positively scary given the weapons and lives that depended on his judgment.

As she gestured Adams to follow, she moved out of the first elevator, and waited while the guard checked their ID, she tried to decide what to do about him. They entered the second elevator, and started their descent. She still hadn't reached any conclusions when the elevator opened, and Janet stepped in.

"Hi Janet," she said, with a sigh of relief. Janet looked inquiringly at her.

"Umm, Can I introduce you to Lt Michael Adams? The Lieutenant works for NORAD, and is on temporary secondment to a project with me. Lieutenant, this is Dr Janet Fraiser, the SGC's Chief Medical Officer."

"Welcome to the SGC, "Janet replied, "I'm sure you'll find it fascinating working with Sam."

"Yes well actually so far he's been finding it fascinating working with the Colonel," she cut in, "Did you know Jack's currently acting as Command Director for the Mountain?"

"What!" Janet exclaimed. "I haven't cleared him for anything other than light duties. He's still recovering from the effects of that last little, um, adventure," she ranted. "Not to mention the one before that. I've already had him dragged down from NORAD to make him rest once today. Just wait until I get a hold of him, I'll...."

She cut off abruptly, and looked at the Lieutenant. Sam followed her gaze, and glanced sideways at Adams, who was now studiously gazing at the floor, avoiding their gaze. Embarrassed, no doubt, to be hearing such a conversation Sam thought. By mutual unspoken agreement, the two women dropped the subject until they had more privacy.

The doors to the elevator opened, and Sam and the Lieutenant walked out.

"Where are you headed," Janet called out. "I'm supposed to be heading for the Control Room - a group from the alpha site is about to arrive. And I wanted to get a briefing on what's going on upstairs, so I can do whatever is needed to prepare. But you'd better fill me in on the Colonel first."

"I'm headed to the Control Room myself, " Sam replied. "I just need to drop the Lieutenant off in my lab. Come with me and I'll fill you in as we go if you like."

Sam watched as Janet let go of the elevator doors, and followed her into the corridor. They hurried along in a tense silence, until they reached the lab. She opened the door, and waved Lieutenant Adams in.

"Here you go Lieutenant," Carter said. "That's the terminal over there. She pushed a remote to activate a screen. You can keep an eye on the launch preparations from here if you like. I'll get someone down to look after you shortly. If you find anything, or want to watch the launch from a bigger screen once you've set up your data runs, just give the guard a call. I'll get someone to bring you down to the Control Room in time for the launch."

She hurried out, not even waiting for his acknowledgement.

* * *

As soon as she got out of the door, Sam started talking as started walking briskly back to the elevators. Janet found herself lagging behind, thinking hard. How out of it could the Colonel be, she wondered.

"Look Janet," Sam called out to her, "I've got to hurry. Jack has made me launch director for this, and we're already at t minus 40 minutes."

As she set off again, Janet raced to keep up with her friend.

"The thing is, I really don't think he's fit for command at the moment. He virtually attacked me this morning, then ran out of the Mountain and stopped me and Daniel following by letting down my tires. He's been acting oddly ever since."

Janet looked at her in disbelief. She was almost running now, desperate to keep up with Sam's long strides.

"By the time we got to his house, he'd taken off," Sam told her. "But he left this pile of books behind - he seems to believe he can just read a few books, and whamo, he's a physicist. Look, Janet, things are pretty serious up there. We've lost two satellites in the last twenty-four hours; we're at DEFCON 3; and we're about to launch the F-302s. Even at his best, Colonel O'Neill is not exactly the first person who comes to mind to have in charge when the problem is essentially a science-based one. And if you haven't actually cleared him, we need to get someone else to take over as fast as possible. "

"All right," Janet replied. "I'd better go and get him pulled out. Could you have Dr Warner paged to look after the visitors for me?"

"Sure, Janet," Sam replied.

Janet hurried off. If the Colonel was as out of it as Sam seemed to think - and given his injuries and the experiences that had led to them, that was only too likely - they could all be in deep trouble.


	10. Visitors

Revised 10.15.04

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**:

Methos sat down, bemused, as Major Carter hurried out of the room, leaving him alone in front of the computer. Well, here he was, all alone in the middle of the mysterious SGC. Where to start, he thought, rubbing his hands together.

And more to the point, how much time did he have before his promised 'escort' arrived? Well, perhaps he had better make it look good, just in case. Within moments, he had the data flashing on the supercomputer's screen.

Although he was anxious to start exploring before anyone arrived to keep an eye on him, Methos couldn't help taking a quick look at the data.

As he expected, though, it simply mirrored the results he had looked at in his quarters. It seemed like weeks ago that he had last seen this data - before he'd moved into his new apartment, before he'd been sure of what was going on in the SGC. In fact, it had been less than a day. Nor had the results changed - something honking big was sitting out there.

Methos thought for a moment before settling down to rework the report so it showed nothing. Something reasonably sophisticated would be required – after all, Carter had detected the transposition of the data-tracks he had put into the OSCAR data.

A few random alterations to the source data, combined with a few changes to the analysis structure, should render the results suitably meaningless, though, he thought. He set the program to rerun, then stood up so he could take a look around.

* * *

Major Doctor Janet Fraiser MD was furious. She glared at her reflection in the elevator, and tapped the metal impatiently. After what Sam had told her about the Colonel's state of mind, she'd decided she couldn't afford to wait and go through the normal channels.

Clearing Colonel O'Neill to do a little make-work was one thing. But being in charge of the whole of Cheyenne Mountain and the considerable firepower it wielded was quite another.

The man was still a long way from recovered – either physically or mentally - from torture and psychological trauma. And from what Sam had said in their brief conversation, it seemed that the Colonel really had lost it this time.

As the elevators finally opened, Janet pushed her way out the doors, and stalked over to the guard desk.

"Locate Colonel O'Neill for me at once, please Airman," she demanded.

She ignored his 'yes, ma'am', and stood, tapping her foot impatiently as he made a couple of calls before timidly informing her that the Colonel was still over in Space Control.

She felt a moment of guilt as the hapless airman quailed beneath her gaze. She was in her stompy-wompy mode she realized. She should probably tone it down a bit. Then again, she thought, as she took in his six foot three companion. Maybe the intimidation effect was needed right now.

"Alright, Airman. So how do I get to Space Control?" she demanded. She had vague memories of the various buildings from her orientation session a few years back, but she couldn't really recall which building housed Space Control.

"No wait a moment," she decided, thinking it through. If she was going to relieve the Colonel of command, and haul him back down to the SGC, she needed to tell the next person in the chain of command. "Where will I find the second-in-command of the Mountain at the moment?"

"That would be Colonel Campbell, Ma'am," the young man replied. "He should be in the Operations Center. Building 1, right next to the tunnel door. Though you'll need clearance to get inside."

"Thank you, Airman," she replied. "I'll deal with that when I get there." She headed out the door.

He looked relieved to see her go.

* * *

Methos turned away from the state-of-the–art, multi-million dollar supercomputer, and surveyed the rest of the laboratory curiously.

Scattered on the bench he could see a range of devices, some based on conventional Earth technologies, some using Goa'uld crystals, others totally unknown to him. One of the devices - fortunately only a fragment - looked as if it was Asgard in origin. The evidence of alien infiltration was everywhere.

Typical bloody Goa'uld, he thought with disgust, stealing from anyone who came along.

Still, his mind countered. If they are Goa'uld, why risk leaving you here unattended? Was he so little threat - or were they so self-confident?

Major Carter's behavior had been odd, to say the least. He reflected on the bizarre tit-bits of information Major Carter had exchanged with the woman she had introduced as Dr Fraiser. Just what exactly was the power structure down here?

He'd observed the tension between O'Neill and Carter now several times. It wasn't all that surprising if Carter was a Goa'uld, while O'Neill was under their control, acting as their front man. But her exchange with Dr Fraiser about O'Neill's fitness for duty didn't quite fit. Unless of course, Dr Fraiser was also a Goa'uld. Was it a code, he wondered? Or was it genuine concern? Or was it just a typical Goa'uld power play?

He didn't know these people well enough to tell. If only one of them would slip up for a second, he thought. If he could just catch the flash of a Goa'uld's eyes, or hear the harmonics of their true voice in the distance - he had to be sure before he acted.

* * *

Janet's eyes glinted dangerously as she faced her reluctant host. Colonel Campbell, the beta watch commander, was a very unhappy camper. He had been very reluctant to let her in – even more so when she explained why she was there.

Janet's eyes wondered across her surroundings. The Operations Center - or Combined Command Center as it was often known - was the link point for all of NORAD's functions across North America. It was located in one of the buildings just inside the massive granite doors that protected Cheyenne Mountain from any external threats. The original theory had been that it could survive even a direct blast to the former missile silo that now housed the SGC's gate room, with the impact dissipating through the tunnel that ran right through the Mountain.

Unfortunately, the development of bigger bombs had rendered the Mountain's safety in the event of a nuclear attack questionable. Let alone the more esoteric threats posed by the Goa'uld and others.

Still, the underground three-story building she was now in was a pretty impressive piece of engineering, even more so in some ways than the SGC's rabbit warren of tunnels deeper in the Mountain.

Now, though, its current boss was trying to obstruct her plan to drag the Colonel straight back down to the SGC, and make him stay there.

"Can't you just give him another hour or two," he said, hands running through his light brown hair. "We are at DEFCON 3, and Jack really is the best person for the job."

She looked at him disbelievingly. She wondered what the Colonel had done to gain this support.

"What do you mean?" she said. "I know Colonel O'Neill is technically next in the chain of command as 2IC of the SGC, but he's hardly the obvious choice to be in command when the problem is primarily a science-based one."

It wasn't that she doubted the Colonel's skills in the field - she'd seen them exercised upfront and personally. But that had been in the face of more tangible threats – the things requiring direct action. Jack was, after all, Special Forces, not a scientist.

"What do _you_ mean," Campbell replied. "Jack's the best scientific thinker I know. I've worked with him on and off for over ten years now, and with General Hammond out of play, we really need him."

Janet did a double-take. A memory of something she'd seen on Jack's file - and dismissed – came back to her. But it couldn't be true could it?

"Look," Campbell went on. "I know a bit about what you guys really do, but not enough to deal with a situation like this. Couldn't you get your medical kit sent up and give him something to keep him going?"

"It's not as easy to fix as that, Colonel," she replied. "The Colonel was severely injured on his last mission. He was tortured. And from what I hear, he hasn't exactly been acting normally."

"I don't know what you've been told, Major, but as far as I can see, he's handling whatever happened to him just fine," Campbell replied. "I certainly haven't seen any abnormal behavior. More to the point, he's doing everything I could think of and more to handle the current crisis."

He looked back at her, almost begging.

"Alright," she said at last, capitulating for the moment. "I'll get my bag brought up and check him out up here. But if he doesn't pass, he can't stay in command."

Campbell nodded at her, but carefully didn't say anything.

* * *

Methos finished his circuit of the laboratory bench which totally dominated the room. On it, he could see a complicated looking device, hooked up to monitoring equipment. He peered at the indicators. Whatever it was, it was generating considerable amounts of power. It obviously wasn't nuclear - it was far too small.

He leant over the bench to examine it. The device seemed to be metal-based, but had no obvious moving parts. As he concentrated, a memory pushed its way to the surface, and gave him the answer. It was made of naquadah.

Naquadah! Methos thought, horrified. He hastily squashed the memories the word conjured up.

If the SGC had naquadah, they had weapons under their control beyond imagining. They had to be dealt with, and quickly.

Assuming, of course, that they were Goa'uld; were the enemy. His mind kept going around in circles, unable to decide.

Still, if they were Goa'uld, he needed a plan that would ensure that none of the vipers could escape from the nest when he destroyed it.

* * *

Janet Fraiser lurked at the back of the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center as she waited for Colonel O'Neill's return, doing her best to keep out of the way of the technicians and officers who were bustling about. Not that the waiting was proving at all onerous.

She noticed that her escort, Corporal Ligetti, was fidgeting nervously beside her. Strictly speaking, she didn't have clearance to be in this room. She was glad Colonel Campbell had let her stay though – what she was watching was riveting.

On the big screens in front of her, she could see and hear the two F-302s - one piloted by Teal'c, one by Major Steward prepping for launch, the voices of the two pilots and their navigators echoing one another as they worked their way systematically through the pre-mission checklists. Every now and then a familiar voice - but one she couldn't quite place - would cut in over the top, to announce the next stage of the countdown.

"T minus 30 minutes and counting. All systems show clear, no orbital impediments, weather conditions remain clear," the voice said.

On another screen, Janet could see Sam huddled over a computer screen with Captain Peters, quietly muttering to each other in the SGC's control room. It was the formidable Sgt LeBeau, she could now see, whose quiet alto was supplying the audio for the countdown.

The other side of the room - almost equally fascinating - was devoted to the publicly acknowledged business of NORAD: tracking domestic flights in the US to counter potential terrorism threats; keeping an eye out for stray missiles; as well as watching out for things like potentially hazardous asteroids near Earth.

From time to time, she couldn't help glancing at the little screen showing the track of the General's flight. He'd called in a couple of times since she'd been there to get updates on the situation.

* * *

His eyes still locked on the naquadah reactor, Methos' mind started spinning through the options. Of course, he suddenly realized, relieved, a weapon like this was always a two-edged sword.

This was getting too easy, Methos thought. First, the free ticket to the SGC, now the means for its destruction.

First, though, he needed to make sure he wouldn't be disturbed. Methos pondered whether to call the Major to report his failure to find anything. She hadn't specifically asked him to - but Colonel O'Neill was obviously hoping or expecting that he would deliver. He decided that attack was, in this case, the best defense, and headed over to the phone on the desk.

* * *

Janet didn't notice the Colonel's entrance at first, so gripped was she by the process of preparing for the launch. Normally, she was stuck in the infirmary while all the excitement was taking place, praying that everything would go well, but preparing for the worst. She was jolted back to duty though when she heard his voice.

"I have command. Lieutenant, can you..," the Colonel said, and was clearly about to continue. The words were out of her mouth before she had even really thought about it.

"Oh no you don't, Colonel. I certified you fit for light duties, not command of the whole Mountain. Leave Colonel Campbell in command, or turn it over to someone else for the moment. If you want to stay, you need my clearance."

"Not that you look like you will get it," she added, as she looked at him more closely. "Haven't you had any sleep since I last examined you?"

Jack turned and glared down at her. The effect was ruined by the sunken look of his eyes, and the lines that ravaged his face. "Doctor, I'm sure you mean well, but I assure you I'm fine. And I've been ordered to take charge in the General's absence by the joint Chiefs. We have a serious situation here, as you can see," he said.

"That's all very well," she replied," but as you well know, medical orders override all others. If you had made them aware of your status...."

Jack jumped in before she could continue. He gripped her elbow, and started steering her towards a door. She realized suddenly that the entire room had lost interest in their panels, and were staring at them instead.

"Let's take this into the office if you don't mind," he said, "Colonel, if you wouldn't mind joining us?" he added, gesturing at Colonel Campbell.

This wasn't really something that should be played out in front of junior officers, she realized, and let him lead her towards the office he was pointing at.

"Lt Griffiths," he said, almost as an afterthought from the doorway. "Could you ask Colonel Wajevsky to join us here as soon as possible please? If he's not available, ask for the next available SGC officer on the HAL list, just in case."

He pulled the door of a small office closed behind them.

* * *

Sam seethed with annoyance as the phone in the control room started ringing.

"Get that would you someone," she snapped, distractedly as she continued to study the K index data she had in front of her. The solar flare forecast had worried her, and she was studying the chances of a serious geomagnetic storm.

It was bad enough, she thought, to have been dumped into a job she was not at all prepared for, and where lives could hang on her decisions, without having to cope with more distractions.

She glared at the swelling crowd in the room, in the vain hope that she could terrorize some into leaving. No such luck. She thought about ordering the hangers-on to leave, but decided against it - after all, it was their comrades who were going up there, and they deserved to know what was going on, even if it did increase her own stress levels.

"It's for you, Ma'am," Sergeant Siler said. "A Lieutenant Adams reporting on some data you asked him to examine?"

"Alright," she said, reluctantly, "put him through."

"Sorry to interrupt, Major," Lt Adams said, "But I thought I should report that there was nothing conclusive in the OSCAR II data you ran," he said sounding disappointed.

"There are a few anomalies in the results, but I'm not convinced that we've got anything yet. I will need some more time to rerun the data with a new filter on it, and see what I can get from the HAL III data."

"That's all right, Lieutenant, I wasn't really expecting instant results," she said, consciously modulating her voice to prevent the irritation she felt at this pointless interruption from creeping in. Mind you, it was just as well Adams had rung, she realized. The Colonel was bound to ask for a progress report, probably sooner rather than later.

"Anything that you need in the meantime?"

Inwardly she couldn't help gloating just a little – hell, she was human wasn't she? So she couldn't help taking some pleasure in the fact that the Colonel's new protégé hadn't come up with the goods yet.

She had been telling the truth when she told the Lieutenant she hadn't expected anything - as the Colonel would have realized if he really had known anything about the subject, science was 99 percent inspiration, only 1 percent inspiration.

Sure, serendipity happened - the happy accidents where things just turned out right first time, where solutions just dropped out of the sky, or new discoveries came out of nowhere - but it was the exception not the rule for things to work out that way.

It had taken her three months to build a particle generator so they could retrieve the Colonel from Edora, not three hours.

She wished that the Colonel would sometimes remember that, rather than taking her ability to regularly pull a scientific rabbit out of a hat for granted.

She had given the young Lieutenant the tools and space he needed to get on with it, unencumbered by interruptions. Now, she anticipated, he mainly needed time.

"Well," Lieutenant Adams said, cutting across her thoughts, "I did have a bit of an idea, but it would need a fresh observation run from the NORAD network. It would involve---"

She cut him off quickly. "That's alright, Lieutenant, you don't need to give me the details at the moment. I'll arrange for it to be authorized."

She plonked the phone down, and went back to worrying about the launch.

* * *

Jack pushed back the thump of his raging headache, and tried to smooth his face, put on a good show.

"Look, Janet, it's only for another hour or so," he said, trying desperately to persuade her to let him stay in command.

He walked over to the desk in the small office off the Cheyenne Mountain Control Center, and pushed a button, activating a wall screen displaying the control room they had just left. An ear symbol appeared on the screen.

"How long until the General gets here, Lt Griffiths?" he asked.

"ETA forty-five minutes, Sir, subject to any delays to accommodate the launch," the Lieutenant replied.

"See if they can speed up the plane, please. I want it on the ground the instant the F-302s have launched."

As soon as the Lieutenant had acknowledged the order, Jack pushed a few buttons to get rid of the sound, but left the screen on.

"One hour, Janet. Please? I really am the best person for this one - it has to be someone from the SGC, and most of our qualified team leaders are out in the field at the moment or with the General. I'm told Colonel Wajevsky, who is supposed to be holding the fort, is currently in residence in your infirmary with the flu."

He stopped as Janet snorted, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'more like recovering from being beaten by your drill'.

He ignored it and went on. He was finding it hard to marshal his arguments, hard to divert his attention from the essentials of the task in front of him and still stay upright. He forced his brain to focus on convincing Janet.

"As you know, Colonel Edwards is off-w-- on a mission and can't be recalled in time. Colonel Campbell here is observing and is ready to back me up, but I'm really the only one available who has sufficient knowledge of the F-302s, the SGC and the satellite situation."

Campbell nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry, Sirs, but medical clearance is required for a reason," Janet replied. "Your judgment could be impaired, Colonel O'Neill. There's a chain of command for just this situation - you'll just have to get the next person on the list in. What about Sam?"

Jack reigned in a sudden burst of anger, and kept his expression controlled.

"I've already assigned her two key tasks; I have her where I need her. In any case, she doesn't have the rating required for the Command Center." Jack responded, controlling his voice tightly. As he spoke, his hand reached up to pat his Master, Space and Missile Command badge, which he had taken the precaution of pining onto his uniform when he had been called in. Of course, he'd thought he was wearing his badge for the benefit of some of the NORAD people who didn't know him, not someone from his own command.

Surely, Janet knew that Sam was only rated Senior.

"Besides, I feel fine. Why don't you give me a quick pick-me-up from your bag of magic potions, and then once the General gets back, you can drag me down to your lair and have your way with me?" He smiled winningly at her, and glanced at the bag she was clutching in her hands.

The effort was only a grim echo of his usual good humor.

Before Janet could respond though, a voice interrupted. "Colonel O'Neill, I've got Major Carter online. ACE is showing increased solar activity - the probability of an M class flare has gone up to 90, and the Major wants to know whether to abort."

Jack cocked his eyebrow at the Doctor, seeking permission to answer. When she didn't object, he pushed the buttons to activate the screen showing Carter down in the SGC.

* * *

As Sam waited, twitching impatiently, the screen suddenly shifted to show the Colonel in a small office, along with Colonel Campbell. Janet, she saw with satisfaction, was also seated with them. She had done her best to get Jack the help he needed. Now it was up to Janet.

"What's the probability of an X class, Major?" the Colonel demanded irritably. She looked at him, surprised. She had expected Colonel Campbell to take the lead in the circumstances. She pulled herself together - this was just Jack after all.

"50 percent, Sir," she replied steadily. "The readings should be coming up on your screen."

She pushed the keys to transfer the data, and waited for him to ask her to explain it to him, as he always did. Instead, she watched in disbelief as he played briefly with his terminal, and turned the data into a graph. Janet, she could see was similarly taken aback. Sam watched as Jack leaned over the table to consult with Colonel Campbell.

"What do you think, Bob?" the Colonel said. "I know we'd can it if it was the shuttle, but it's only an M2, and even a low X class shouldn't really be a problem for the F-302s. Mind you, we might lose our links with them, and I don't really want to do that with who knows what up there. Still, we're running out of time here."

Sam sat, stunned into silence, as techno-babble ran in streams between the two Colonels. There was none of her Colonel's normal mangling of scientific jargon, none of his muddling of concepts. Not even any jokes.

Part way through the discussion, the Colonel called up Lt Griffiths, and had him add more data to their screens, along with an electronic representation of the roiling sun.

Before she could recover enough to even attempt to contribute to the discussion, Colonel Campbell drew it to a close. "I think we have to go Jack, if you're sure the F-302s can take it. Even if we do go to major flare status, we'll still have almost an hour's warning, and those birds can certainly get down in that time."

"Any objections Major?" Jack said.

"No, sir," she managed to get out, hoping that it sounded like something close to her normal voice. She couldn't, however, control the flush of red that was suffusing her face. The screen didn't let her see whether he had noticed.

"Very well then, we will proceed with the countdown at this stage. I'll get Lieutenant Griffiths to make sure you have a priority live feed from ACE and GOES just in case."

She was still staring at the screen when Jack reached over, and the screen flicked back to a view of the Operations Center proper.

"ACE? GOES? What is all that?" Janet asked, diverted despite her best intentions. "And how come you suddenly know all this stuff Colonel? You normally struggle even to use a computer to write up your reports!"

"Hum, well, ACE is the Advanced Composition Explorer - it's a spaceship sitting between the sun and Earth to monitor solar winds and flares. It's situated far enough away from us - about 1.5 million kilometers away - to give us early warning of major solar storms and potential blackouts. In theory, we should get about an hour's advance warning of anything serious coming from the sun."

He paused to see if she was following.

"Go on," she said, "it's fascinating. So what's an M class when it's at home?"

"An M class flare is a medium sized one, which can cause a few blackouts, and definitely causes problems for a space shuttle launch. An X is a biggie - potential for worldwide blackouts, and potentially serious problems for astronauts, at least ones in conventional spacecraft. The worst we've recorded since ACE has been up was on Bastille Day in 2000 - it was an X6, and that caused a fair amount of damage. You know, blackouts, malfunctioning satellites, that kind of thing."

"So what's that picture there showing," she asked, pointing at the electronic image of the sun sitting next to the graphs on the screen.

"You're looking at pictures from the Solar X-ray imager on the GOES 12 spaceship. There are still a few wrinkles in the data," he said, "but it sure looks pretty," he said, reverting to his usual style when it came to things scientific in briefings. He hoped he could lighten her mood a bit, and perhaps encourage her to relent.

"As for how I know this stuff, I thought I'd already been busted by Sam. I thought she would have told you all about it," he said more seriously. "Anyway,Janet, I though you at least might have seen through me earlier - you must have noticed from my file that I used to work in NORAD before the SGC?"

She frowned. "Well, yes, but---"

"But you thought it was a cover story?" He said. Actually, it was in part - he had continued to be given the odd covert assignment even after he had changed career tracks.

"Yes," she said, looking a bit ashamed.

"Okay, so I might have lead you all on a bit. I do tend to downplay my computer skills and knowledge a little when it doesn't really matter," he went on.

"A little team-building tool you might say - let the resident geniuses work together and help the poor old dumb Colonel out," he added cheekily.

He saw respond to his attempt at humor.

"I see, Sir, so that's why you let your hair go gray, " she said. " A little extra help to the doddering image? Not that it doesn't make you look distinguished," she added hastily.

He grinned in response. Actually, he had learnt to play down his science skills in self-defense while in training for special ops. Most of his training had been in joint forces schools - and Marines weren't called jarheads for nothing.

Colonel Campbell glanced at the countdown clock and interjected for the first time.

"Look Doctor, Colonel O'Neill invented half the techniques and procedures we're using today in Space Control, he said. "He trained me, but I really don't have the detailed knowledge of the F-302s to oversee a launch, let alone deal with what we might find up there. Besides, we're running out of time. We'll have to abort the launch if you won't let him stay in charge, and any delay could pose a serious danger to Earth."

"In any case, he can't turn over command to me - under the HAL protocol it has to be an SGC officer."

"Okay, I'll buy it," she said. "But I have to be satisfied that you really can keep going Colonel. And I'm not forgetting about your little disobedience to medical orders either."

"Let me take a quick look at you and I'll see what we can do. I'll give you a call when I've finished, Colonel Campbell," she said, effectively dismissing him.

* * *

Methos had only been working on his newly acquired data for about five minutes when alarms started whooping through the complex.

A voice boomed out of the speakers. "Off-world activation," it said, "Repeat, Off-world activation."

Well that explained a lot, he thought. They had a Chappa'ai. A gate that could take them instantly to virtually anywhere in the galaxy, well at least anywhere that had a matching gate at the other end. A gate that might allow them to escape if he gave them any warning of the destruction of their lair.

He was still contemplating the implications of the Chappa 'ai when he heard the sound of boots marching in the corridor, and voices.

He poked his head out the door, but the guard who had arrived a few minutes previously politely directed him back into the room. "If you would stay inside out of the way, please Sir."

He retreated, but not before he saw three Jaffa - one a prime, from the flash of gold - in full armor, complete with staff weapons, followed by a tanned, balding, older man in oddly plain clothes for a Goa'uld. Not that there was any doubt about his identity. The glowing eyes and distorted voice was a dead giveaway.

Shaking inwardly, Methos reflected grimly on what he had seen. There was no doubt now - the SGC had to be destroyed. He couldn't let them steal more bodies, or destroy this world. The only issue was the best moment.

As Methos sat, thinking through his game plan, he noticed that Ferretti's screensaver had popped up on the computer. He grinned ferally. He watched the little cartoon figure say, "Get off my ship" once again, and thought about the irony of it.

He had added his virus to it when it was still being developed, still had an innocent façade, snatching the chance when one of the SGC people in Space Control had gone on a dinner break a few days previously. It was only later, when Colonel O'Neill had come across it that he had discovered that even its façade wasn't so innocent.

He wondered how widely his little surprise had spread.

* * *

"So Colonel," Janet said, "How are you really doing? You may as well relax, my instruments will tell me the truth regardless of what you say."

Five minutes later, they returned to the main control room, and Janet reluctantly let him assume command. She had given him some painkillers and a mild stimulant, but fairly soon he was going to have to rest.

She hesitated near the doorway, not wanting to miss out on the fun - or to let her patient out of her sight. On the wall chart, the countdown was now at t minus twenty. No one from the SGC, she noticed, had yet appeared, so it was just as well that she had decided to let him stay on, she thought grumpily.

"Hey Doc, want to stay and watch?" the Colonel said, obviously detecting her reluctance to leave.

"Yes sir, thank you," she said eagerly, glad to get the chance just for once to see it all happening. And glad to, to be in the right place so that she could be ready to pick up the pieces when the Colonel finally did fall apart.


	11. Empires

Revised 31.10.04

-----------------------------------------

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: Empires**

**------------------------------------------**

Colonel Jack O'Neill surveyed his temporary empire anxiously from the Command Director's station in the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center. Half a dozen heads were buried in their computers, their gazes moving only occasionally, and then only to flick up to the bank of overhead screens.

As his eyes moved around the room, sound from three of the overhead screens competed for his attention. It was the slow but steady drone of the countdown clock, though, that was mostly winning out.

Everything seemed to be running smoothly, Jack thought. But there was a lot hanging on this mission. They needed to get HAL III back in operation. More importantly, they needed to know what was out there. Was this yet another Goa'uld, lining up to attack them? Were the replicators back yet again? Or was it some completely new threat?

He focused first on the monitor screens relating to his mission. At this point, a severe solar flare was probably the biggest danger to the mission - aside from whatever it was that was lurking up there, of course. Fortunately, nothing abnormal was showing up on the ACE data, at least, not yet.

He decided to check the status of the other sections that made up this Control Center. He was relying on Bob Campbell to look after the normal business of NORAD for him, but he was in command. It wasn't a responsibility he took lightly.

Fortunately, a quick check of the boards showed everything normal.

------------------------------------

Daniel considered his tactics as he walked down the corridor towards Sam's lab. Escort duty wasn't his favorite activity, but he really wanted to get another chance to talk to the man who either really was Adam Pierson – or was as near his double as it was possible to be.

He'd been surprised when Sam told him that the man they'd met in the bus that morning had turned out to be a star researcher whom Jack had co-opted to help find the mystery object that was threatening the Earth.

Surprised and suspicious.

True, there were differences between Adam Pierson and Lt Michael Adams. Pierson had been a linguist, not a physicist. His hair color was different; so was his accent. Still, these were all things that were under the control of the individual.

And of course, if Adams was Adam he should look a lot older – unless he had access to a sarcophagus or some other life-extending technology.

Okay, so that was unlikely. But how many look-alikes also matched their original's intellect and mannerisms?

The truth was there had always been something slightly odd about Adam Pierson, something just slightly off-key. On the surface Adam had behaved like a typical student when they studied together – he virtually lived in the bar, affecting never to study. He never tried to be the leader, or stand out in any way. Somehow, though, he always seemed to know more than anyone else, and to get better results than anyone else.

Moreover, Daniel had observed that somehow or other, people always seemed to end up doing what Adam Pierson wanted; adopting Adam's outlook on any topic they discussed. Daniel had never been able to work out how he did it.

None of which proves that Lieutenant Adams is Adam Pierson, he told himself.

Well, even if he isn't, you get to meet the guy who has put the wind up Sam, he told himself as he finally reached the lab.

"Thank you Sergeant, you can go now," he said to the SF standing outside the lab.

He watched the man hurry off. As soon as he was gone, he turned back, and rapped on the door.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing the Lieutenant. For a moment, he thought he saw some emotion flick across his face. But then the impression fled before he could be sure what it was. In its place, stood the image of Lieutenant Adams, blinking shyly at him.

"Um, hi," Daniel said.

"Oh hello," the Lieutenant said, "We met on the bus this morning, right?"

"Yes, that's right," Daniel replied. He stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure in front of him. "It's just uncanny, you really do look so much like my friend. It's really hard not to think that you're him."

Adams didn't blink.

"Ah, yes my doppelganger," the Lieutenant said, meeting his gaze and smiling earnestly. "Pierson, I think you said? What can I do for you, Dr Jackson?"

The hairs on Daniel's neck rose. Adams had schooled his face to fit the part he was playing. But his accent had seemed to falter there for a moment, enough to set Daniel's linguist's ear tingling. Adams had pronounced the German word just a little too correctly. And then his vowels had wavered, not quite flat enough to fit the mid-Atlantic accent he was affecting. Daniel tried not to react.

"Well actually, Sam - Major Carter that is - asked me to drop by and bring you down to the control room for the launch," Daniel he managed to get out. "Everyone's pretty busy, so Sam asked if I'd be your escort."

He hoped he didn't sound as nervous to the other man's ears as to his own. He tried to relax. Just because he can correctly pronounce one German word doesn't make him Adam, Daniel told himself.

"Well actually I'd really rather stay here and keep working," Adams replied. The grin slipped somewhat. "If I can find out what's up there and where it is, it will save the pilots a lot of time."

Daniel took a step backwards involuntarily. Adams was radiating something – almost menace. He wondered if he should have waited before he had waved off the SF.

"It really was an order," he replied firmly. He gestured in the direction of the door.

To his relief, Adams reluctantly started heading for the door.

-----------------------

Methos tried to let Daniel's constant stream of nervous chatter wash over him. It was the sidelong glances, though, that really had him worried. He tried to make soothing noises in reply, and throw in the occasional non-committal response - Methos couldn't afford to let the situation get away from him now, when he was so close to achieving his goals.

He thought about the little scene that had just played out. Daniel clearly wasn't wholly convinced that he wasn't Adam Pierson. Hardly surprising really - no doubt his contact with Goa'uld had taught him how deceptive apparent age could be. Still, there was no way for Daniel to prove that he actually was Pierson – although in the current environment, doubt was probably enough to undo him.

In a perverse way, Methos found Daniel's nervousness almost comforting. For one thing, it confirmed that Daniel at least, wasn't a Goa'uld. More to the point, despite the threat Daniel posed to his identify, his inconsequential chatter was helping dispel for Methos the eerie sense of a darkness hiding just out of range of the glaring artificial lighting. Daniel, when it came down to it, was the least of his problems – for Goa'uld and their lackey's did roam these corridors.

He shuddered again, as he remembered the little party that had passed the lab, bringing him as close to a Goa'uld as he ever wanted to be again. A few thousand years hadn't been nearly long enough to forget.

Methos let Daniel's chatter about the launch wash over him as he focused on keeping calm. To distract himself, he started noting the security measures he was passing. There were guards and cameras everywhere. Most of the rooms seemed to require security cards to open, and he could see that each section of the corridor could be closed off if necessary, and again required the cards to unlock them.

He was going to have to acquire a card with the right level of clearance, he realized. He had started considering his options for obtaining a security pass when suddenly, Daniel stopped dead.

"So, Adam, it is you," he said fiercely, backing towards the wall.

--------------------------------------------

Jack turned back to watch the countdown. Just about time to rock-and-roll, he thought, and counted with the clock. Just as it reached the next major marker, he leant over, and grabbed the mike.

"OK folks," he said. "We are now at t minus ten minutes. Give me a run of the boards please Carter."

There was a moment's hesitation, and then she started to do a check-in with the key system operators, carefully verifying that everything was on track.

What was he going to do about Carter, he wondered as he listened in. The penny had obviously finally dropped for her during his discussion on the flares with Colonel Campbell – and now she was having to reconfigure all of her perceptions of him built up over the last seven years.

She'd hardly said a word in the discussion – but the video feed had, if anything, accentuated her obvious embarrassment.

Now that he had recovered somewhat from his anger at her, he could see that it wasn't completely her fault for underestimating him. He had, after all, actively set out to mislead her about his knowledge and skills. He thought back over how many times he'd left it to her to fix a DHD, to repair the computers, or solve some other scientific problem. True, he'd dropped some fairly blatant hints from time to time, to point her to the right solution. And he had taken on the odd task when he knew he had the superior expertise.

Mostly, though, he HAD deliberately played her for a fool. Making it up to her - and more importantly, regaining her trust wasn't going to be easy. But if SG-1 was ever to operate an effective team again, they would have to get past this.

As the check-in continued Jack's eyes flicked once more across the other screens. On one, Teal'c and his navigator Captain Mintz continued to work steadily through their pre-flight checklists, echoed closely by Major Steward and Lieutenant Severs in the second F-302.

Maybe he could take the whole team up to his cabin once this was over, he thought, and combine injury recovery time with a little, hopefully mutual, groveling. He pushed aside the problem for later consideration.

At t minus ten minutes, Jack heard Sam give the clearance for the covers over the launch pads to be opened. He couldn't help grinning as the sleek little spacecraft slowly rumbled up to the surface. "Thunderbirds are go!" he muttered under his breath.

---------------------------------------

Methos could see the red panic button Daniel was obviously aiming for. He circled around to confront him, trying not to be too obvious as he moved closer to a position where he could block him off.

Shit, shit, shit he thought. What gave me away? I should have been paying more attention, he thought to himself as he replayed the conversation in his head.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson? What do you mean?" he asked, plastering an innocent expression on his face.

"I just asked if the solar flares were going to be a problem, and you said they could seriously impact the mission."

"So?" he said, now genuinely puzzled.

"I was speaking Latin," Daniel said.

Damn, he thought. Keep calm, try and bluff it out.

If Daniel was expecting some grand display of panic, he wasn't going to get it from someone who had lived 5,000 years.

"I'm sorry, Dr Jackson. I don't get it. Why would that make me your Adam Pierson?" He hoped he sounded angry rather than afraid.

"A scientist speaking fluent Latin," Daniel replied disbelievingly. "How do you explain that?"

Desperately, Methos channeled his panic into anger. He drew himself up tensely and moved closer to Daniel.

"Well, we scientists do have to go to High School first, you know," he said indignantly. "At my Elementary School, we had to do two languages, and I chose Latin and French. I kept them up after that."

Yet another thing he hoped they wouldn't check about his background. Still, at least the curriculum for my alleged school is correct, he thought.

"Yes but High School Latin doesn't teach you to speak it," Daniel replied reasonably, inching towards the emergency alarm.

Methos moved around to cut him off.

"Read, sure, but not speak, and not that well," Daniel added. "So what are you doing here Adam? And who are you really?"

"I still don't get it," Methos replied indignantly. He hoped he sounded angry rather than desperate. "You obviously never met my Latin teacher. She made us listen to Radio Finland's Latin news service and learn the content of that Latin phrasebook you can buy these days. Besides, I attend a traditional Latin rite catholic church. Haven't you heard that Latin is back in fashion, Dr Jackson?"

He was babbling now, he realized, but that was probably in character. "Even Hollywood's in on it - Mel Gibson's latest film is in Aramaic and Latin; hell, you can even get the weather in Latin on the Internet. Look, Sir," he said, gazing earnestly into Daniel's eyes. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I'm even related to this Adam person you want me to be."

As he finished his plea, an SF walked up to them from the end of the corridor.

"Is there a problem, Dr Jackson?" the guard asked.

Daniel stared at Methos, and hesitated.

Methos froze, waiting to see which way he would jump. There was a long silence.

"No, no problem Airman," Daniel eventually said.

He started walking again, and Methos followed in a tense silence, wondering if Daniel really was convinced, or was just biding his time.

----------------------------

Daniel wondered what he should do next. For a while there, he'd been seriously scared. Yet the Lieutenant's explanation for the Latin was at least plausible. All the same, the odds of there being two virtually identical people, both with genius level IQs, and now it seemed, both with considerable language skills, seemed minuscule.

He thought about calling Jack, but then shied away from the thought. Anyway, he had no real evidence.

He thought back over what he knew. From what Sam had said, he assumed she'd been close enough to sense whether or not he was Goa'uld. But maybe it was just an assumption.

They were nearing the control room, he noted, and crowds of people were hovering about, presumably to see the launch. The doors to the briefing room, though, were closed. The visitors from the alpha site, he guessed.

Well, that opened up a few options. There was one simple way of checking out whether or not this 'kid' was what he seemed. And if was Goa'uld, he would be with people who could deal with the situation efficiently. He turned to the Lieutenant.

"You'd better come into the briefing room with me," he said. "They've set up some extra viewing screens there for some VIPs who've just arrived. There's room for a few more, and we'll be out of the way of this crowd there."

--------------------------------------

A guard opened the door to Daniel, and Adams followed him in.

Then he stopped abruptly. Turning around to check on his charge, he could see that Adams had frozen. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to decide whether to run or take on the enemy.

Before he could ask him what the problem was, though, Jacob walked up to Daniel, smiling broadly.

"Hello Daniel, good to see you," Jacob said, "Who is your friend?" he said looking directly at Adams.

Daniel watched carefully to see how Adams would react. His face was pure white, and a pulse throbbed in his long, elegant neck. Adams' eyes looked sideways, as if seeking an escape path. There was none.

"General Carter," Daniel said, intervening calmly, and moving around to block the path backwards to the door. "This is Lieutenant Michael Adams. He has literally just joined us - Sam's got him working on some special project of hers for the launch - he hasn't been briefed on the SGC's activities yet. Although I thought he might actually be a friend of yours."

Daniel looked at the Jacob meaningfully, and reached out to shake first his then Adams' hand.

Adams finally broke his paralysis and straightened to attention. The look of incredulity that passed across his face, though, was easy to read.

Could Adams' nerves just be a matter of meeting a General – and a rather underdressed one at that? Daniel grinned at the man's discomfort as he stared at Jacob's Tok'ra garb – okay, so brown leggings and a tunic did not really exactly signal General.

As Jacob gripped Adams hand – but failed to challenge him - Daniel relaxed a little. For that matter, for someone who didn't know what he was seeing, the whole room looked like a fancy dress party. Not exactly what you'd expect to see in the middle of a critical launch deep in a secret base. So his reaction was totally explicable.

Daniel couldn't help feeling disappointed.

---------------------------

"Lieutenant, this is General Carter, Sam's father," Daniel said.

The 'General' was a balding man who looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s - although of course, he could well be a thousand years old or more. Unsurprisingly, he looked fit - tan, lean and muscled. Actually, he probably wasn't that much older than he looked, Methos realized, if his host really had been a General.

Another Goa'uld victim to add to the tally.

"He acts as a liaison for us with some of our allies." Daniel waved in the direction of the others seated at the table.

Under tight control now, Methos looked around the room. As his eyes swept the rest of the party, he ruthlessly crushed his reaction as he matched the sigils on the men's foreheads to their owners.

Well, at least he now knew whom he was up against.

Apophis! And, apparently allied with Yu. Well it explained the secrecy - Ra wouldn't be too thrilled at Apophis moving in on what had been his territory, even after all this time.

Methos retrieved his hand from the Goa'uld with relief, and tried to relax, to behave normally. He'd almost blown it back there.

He noted Daniel's sigh of relief as the 'General' released his hand. Had Daniel thought he was a rival Goa'uld, or something, about to be revealed when the General touched him?

At least that confirmed that Daniel himself had not been taken as a host. If they escaped this, Daniel could probably be de-programmed or even cured if they were using some kind of mind-control drug like Nish'ta, he comforted himself.

He wondered how to play it. Should he ask Daniel just where these so-called allies came from, with their distinctive armor, clothing, and tattoos, and see what explanation he could come up with?

No, better not to test Daniel's creative abilities, he decided. Better to pretend to be overawed instead.

Methos was still standing, trying to work out what to do next, when he heard the General ask Daniel for a briefing on what it was they were looking for.

"Actually Jacob, the Lieutenant here is probably best placed to give us all a quick briefing before the final launch sequence. If that's alright Lieutenant?"

Daniel hastily pushed him into a seat as the room took on a hushed silence.

"Of course, Sir," he managed to get out, wondering what on earth to say.

Seeing his hesitation, Daniel said, "Everyone here has full clearance, you don't need to be concerned about security risks."

Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know, he thought to himself. Any concerns he might have were pretty moot given that Major O'Goa'uld was controlling the launch. He tried to pull himself together.

"A few days ago," he began, "an amateur radio satellite was knocked out of orbit by an object we have been unable to detect."

"What is this 'amateur radio satellite'," an elderly Jaffa asked?

The tattoo on his forehead identified him as a First Prime of Apophis.

Methos launched into an explanation.

-----------------------------------

For the first time since he'd been hauled back into the Mountain, Jack wished he were in one of the F-302s rather than pinned down here. Not that he would be able to see straight enough to fly one at the moment, he realized. This was the worst part, when other people were going into danger, and he wasn't out there with them. He automatically noted the time: T minus ninety seconds.

It was why he had resisted several offers of promotion. But I'm going to have to give in soon, he told himself as he felt a flash of pain from his knees, or else they're going to boot me out. He pressed back the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, and glanced down at his displays.

Just at that moment, the picture of the sun went wild, and the lines on the graphs started spiked rapidly upwards.

"Seems like we have a coronal mass ejection, Major. Take a look at the ACE data. It's accompanied by an M class. You might have to bring them back early, no matter what they find."

"Understood, Sir," Major Carter replied, and quickly passed on the information to the crews.

"T minus sixty seconds," he heard finally, "Engines online".

Jack could see Carter giving Sergeant LeBeau a thumbs-up signal on the screen showing the SGC's control room. "Alpha flight one and two, you have a go for launch," the Sergeant said.

There was a pause as the seconds ticked away.

"T minus twenty seconds, all clear and running."

He could hear the pilots confirming their go status to Sam.

"T minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, lift-off," LeBeau counted off. The video showed the two little craft rising smoothly and rapidly into the inky darkness of the night sky, and quickly disappearing into the upper atmosphere.

A cheer broke out in the room, and they could hear echoes of it on the monitors for the Space Center and the SGC.

In a way it was anti-climactic, he thought. There was none of the thunder of rockets or drama associated with the space shuttle, and it seemed only seconds later that the little craft reached orbit, and sought permission to commence their assigned missions.

As the seconds went by, he found himself watching the solar data monitor rather than the spaceship's eye views of space. The image of the sun was still whirling, but it was the graphs that gained his attention.

Instead of peaking and steadying, the lines on them just kept going up.

"We have a Bastille Day event," he heard Lt Commander Doull say grimly from Space Control. "Repeat, we have a Bastille Day event incoming."

He pushed the tab on his desk mike to activate it.

"Solar flare now rated X8 incoming rapidly," he said. "Activate emergency communications and airspace procedures."

------------------------------

Around the room, Janet could see screens go live with emergency warnings flashing. She watched Sam and Jack discuss across a vidscreen, whether to abort the mission now. She could see Sam reluctantly give way to the Colonel's urgency - and evident knowledge.

"We still have between fifteen and forty five minutes useable time," he said. "Let's at least start the search, and bring them down in fifteen."

"Yes, Sir," Sam replied, clearly hesitant.

Janet heard Sam give Major Steward, the pilot of one of the F-302s, permission to intercept and bring in the two dud satellites, while Teal'c started the search for whatever it was that had kicked them out of orbit.

Jack turned to Lt Griffiths and ordered, "Contact Air Traffic Control and get them to speed up General Hammond's plane and bring it in stat. We need him here in case we lose communications."

As the Lieutenant acknowledged the order, Janet's eyes were dragged back, mesmerized, to the images now being beamed from space by the two craft. Steward's cameras were showing pictures of HAL III. The satellite looked undamaged as far as she could see - apparently its instruments had been fried, not it.

Teal'c was having less luck in finding anything.

Suddenly, though, things changed. Blue lightning bolts engulfed Teal'c's craft. The dials on his instrument gauges, still displayed on the wall above, started gyrating wildly.

"I am losing control of the craft," Teal'c said. "We seem to have encountered a force field of some kind. Attempting to retreat."

The screen flickered on and off, and the picture degenerated to a soft fuzz.

"Get that picture back, Lieutenant Griffiths, "Jack ordered.

"I'm trying, Sir, " he responded, while continuing to type furiously on his computer.

Over the top of the interference on the channels to the ships, Sam's voice blared over the speakers. "F-302 alpha and beta, come in please. This is Cheyenne Command; please land your craft immediately. I repeat, land your craft immediately."

The Coms Lieutenant looked up, and the screens flashed something a few times, and then momentarily stabilized, showing the F-302s crews. Major Steward raised a thumb at them, and then turned back to his controls.

Teal'c's head, however lolled against his seat, while his navigator was slumped as far forward as his harness permitted. There were no visible lights coming from his instrument gauges.

Before they could do or say anything, the screens died once more.

"Get it back, Lieutenant," the Colonel demanded.

"I'm trying, Sir, but it's no good. We won't get anything now until the flare has died down."


	12. Going Down

Author's note: Special thanks to all the reviewers - reached 150 reviews, wow, thank you so much for the encouragement! I enjoyed the virtual cookies Penny! Hopefully more angst, twists, suspense and humor coming up, your comments are spurring me to knuckle down to it!  
  
Thanks again to Village Mystic, Teri and Jezowen for suggestions and comments.  
  
Revised 2/7/2004  
  
Ch 12: Going down  
  
Methos sat, frozen in place, as the screens in the briefing room turned to fuzz, and the voice to noise. He gripped his hands together, twisting them nervously, until he noticed what he was doing, and stilled them.  
  
The only sounds in the room were the static coming over the speakers from the two spacecraft, and Major Carter's voice repeating a plea for them to respond.  
  
It was not, however, the fate of the spaceship crews that was inducing his panic. As the launch had progressed, he had had more and more trouble concentrating on it, rather than the Goa'uld and Jaffa who surrounded him. This was much worse than the senior officer briefing, much worse than working with Major Maybe-a-Goa'uld Carter. Earlier, he had had suspicions only; now he was sure. And he knew the danger that could come at any moment from the infant Goa'uld concealed in the pseudo-wombs of the Jaffa; symbiotes biding their time until they were mature enough to be able to control a human host.  
  
He looked again at the fierce-looking old Jaffa - Bray'tac, he thought he'd heard him called - and wondered what he had done to be able to survive this long. 'Old Jaffa' was normally a contradiction in terms. He suppressed a shiver.  
  
Beam me up, Scotty, he thought. The Enterprise in any of her incarnations would be good right now.  
  
It hadn't been so bad at first. At least when he had first entered the room, he had had something to do: convince them of his ignorance; try and gain Daniel's trust. He brought his hands up in front of him, locked together so he could control them, and leaned his elbows on the table.  
  
He replayed the visual they had just seen in his mind. The force-field or whatever it was that had attacked the Jaffa's spacecraft had looked like nothing so much as a Quickening, the energies released when an immortal lost his or her head. It seemed unlikely, however, that there was a connection - energy manifestations, he guessed, inevitably looked similar.  
  
As he cast a furtive glance around the room once more, he noticed that he wasn't the only one whose tension levels were rising. He was surprised at the reactions from the figures around the table. Concern from the other Jaffa for a comrade, he supposed he could understand. Maybe the 'General' was concerned about the threat posed by a mysterious object that could put a death glider out of action?  
  
All the same, something seemed to be slightly off. It was odd for a Goa'uld - even one pretending to be a human at the moment - to seem so concerned.   
  
Only Daniel's reaction seemed consistent with his nature, Methos thought. Daniel had leapt up out of his chair and started pacing, clearly desperate to do something - not that there was anything anyone here actually could do right at the moment.   
  
There must be some way he could capitalize on the opportunity.  
  
The screen flickered again briefly, showing an image of Major Steward apparently unharmed. A few seconds later, the Jaffa and his navigator appeared on the screen, both apparently unconscious.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of gold flick across the General's eyes then die, with the picture on the screen. So much for concern, he thought, as he noticed the face of the Goa'uld harden. He pretended not to have noticed the General's momentary lapse.  
  
He had to get out there, and fast, he decided, before the Goa'uld could no longer control himself. He waited another few minutes, but the picture didn't come back. The screen cut to a view of Patterson Air Force Base.  
  
He put his hands back down under the table, and pulled together what he could of his current persona.  
  
"Dr Jackson, " he said, "With this emergency, everyone's going to be a bit preoccupied for a while. I wonder if I could go back to the lab so I can continue working? I have permission to tie into the telescope array, so I might be able to find something that could help locate the spacecraft and whatever caused it to be jolted like that."  
  
"Well I guess that's OK," Daniel said distractedly, "If you think you can help?"  
  
"Well there are no guarantees, " he replied, "But at least I can try."  
  
He noticed the elderly Apophis Prime nod approvingly, and cringed inside. He had to get out of that room. He stood up, and took Daniel's shoulder, guiding him in the direction of the door. It seemed like a century had passed before they finally made it into the corridor, as Daniel kept looking back, clearly hoping that visuals from the spacecraft would return.   
  
Once in the lab, he turned the screen back on so he could monitor any developments on the mission, then made a show of looking at the data flashing on the computer. He started typing, pulling the data into graphs and tables, feeling more and more frustrated as the minutes ticked by. Daniel, it seemed, wasn't planning on leaving quickly.  
  
An idea occurred to him, and so he walked over to the other computer in the room. The screensaver disappeared as he touched the keyboard.  
  
****************************************  
  
Jack slammed his head down onto the desk in front of him with a resounding thump. The pain counter-balanced his previous headache quite nicely.  
  
He looked up to see the Doctor wince in sympathy. He swung his now doubly aching head around so he could see the screen. To his surprise, it had regained a picture, and it was a doozy.   
  
Thor was sitting in a golden throne, surrounded by the kneeling figures of his all-time favorite Goa'uld, including Osiris, Ba'al, Yu and Anubis. Way to go Thor!  
  
He looked around the room, carefully. No one showed signs of seeing anything amiss. In fact, everyone seemed locked in frantic activity to regain contact with the spacecraft.   
  
Could they be pretending, he thought, trying to psych him out? He turned around and studied Dr Fraiser. She returned his glance calmly.  
  
He brought his hand up to his head. It had to be a hallucination. There was, after all, no way that Thor could be staring down at him from the screen, was there? Well, maybe there was, but not perhaps this particular vision.  
  
Pull yourself together, Jack, he told himself. It's just sleep deprivation. You know, that thing that happens when you forego the dark bliss: a few flying pigs, the shakes, a bit of paranoia to stir the pot. Nothing to worry about really. He just had to remember his training, to fight it, so he could get Teal'c back.  
  
He focused again on the screen. The vision tormented him, fading in and out like the Cheshire cat, until it finally disappeared. He turned back to the console, and added his voice to the activity. It felt like jello wrestling - slipping and sliding at half speed through gunk.  
  
******************************************  
  
Teal'c came back to consciousness with a jolt. He reached out to grip the controls of his craft tightly, and attempted to bring it under control.   
  
The wild spasms that were ripping through his muscles, though, made him jerk the controls as he had when he had learned to drive, and struggled to use the illogically arranged clutch of his car. His motions exacerbated the wild gyrations of the ship as it tossed and turned in response to the bolts of blue lightning that surrounded them. He temporarily relinquished his attempt to gain control of the ship.  
  
He noticed that the lightning did seem to be dying down somewhat, and the ship's gyrations were reducing in intensity.  
  
"Lt Mintz," he mouthed, trying to ascertain the state of health of his navigator. Nothing came out of his rasping and dry throat. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Lt Mintz, are you injured?"  
  
The response was a deafening silence. A positive answer in context, he realized. He tried looking over his shoulder to see if he could do anything for the Lieutenant. He was unsuccessful: his neck was locked in place.  
  
He decided to attempt the instrument panel again, and reached over to it, trying to time his movements to fit between spasms. After three attempts, he managed to flick the external communications switch, and tried calling the SGC.   
  
There was, however, no response, nothing in fact but white noise on the channel. He wondered idly for a moment how the Tau'ri had arrived at that term for the interference that grated in his ear, seemingly incorporating the entire audible spectrum. There was, after all, nothing to particularly associate the hissing sound that emanated from his equipment with the color.  
  
His mind instantly flooded with possible dictionary definitions from which he could draw combinations to tease his friends - bleached sound, ashen dissonance, blanched clamor, and achromatic cacophony. He stopped himself.  
  
If he wished to see those friends again, he needed to focus on the problem at hand. Achieve control. Exclude the unimportant.  
  
He attempted once more to bring his muscles under control, trying to draw himself into Kel'No'Reem. It was a futile effort. Even at the best of times now, he found it difficult to achieve the state of meditation that he had previously been able to achieve with the help of the symbiote he had nurtured in his pseudo-womb. He had come to terms with the loss of the benefits to his health and strength that the symbiote that had once substituted for his immune system had conferred. The drug, Tritonin, kept him alive. But there were times when he felt his symbiotes loss acutely. This was one of them.   
  
At least, he was conscious, even if only just. Teal'c was fairly sure he had a head injury of some kind, given that he was unable to rotate his neck. His arms and hands were still spasming, jerking almost uncontrollably as the lightning bolts rocked the ship. He bit his lip to stop from crying out with the pain as another surge hit him.  
  
He tried to recall the events that had led to his current situation. The launch had gone smoothly, apart from the warning of increased solar activity, which no doubt accounted for the lack of communications.  
  
He had started the agreed grid search on the likely locations of any alien body, with no success at first. Until suddenly, he had run into what seemed to be a force field. At first, the ship had just done a violent bounce, seemingly tossed away from whatever it was the force field was protecting. Now though, it seemed to be caught in some kind of alien energy field, one that showed no inclination to let him go.   
  
Teal'c focused his attention on the panel in front of him, to see if there was anything he could do to regain control of his craft. Most of the instruments surrounding him looked dead.   
  
As the energy jolted through him yet again, he realized he had no choice - he had to try and maneuver himself out of its grip. He seized the controls once more, and held on to them as he pushed the button to activate the thrusters for the craft. After several false starts - and a few more wild turns - he felt the craft slowly responding. He tried a burst of power to see if he could get himself out of range of the lightning. To his surprise, the forward thrusters actually worked, and he started edging his way out of the lightning zone.  
  
***************************  
  
The Operations Center was frantic as the picture on the screen flicked on and off, then died again completely. Jack looked much worse, Janet thought, as he turned from the blank screen to stare at her, stony-faced. The stimulant was obviously already starting to wear off. This was way too soon. He must have been far worse then she had thought to begin with.  
  
Janet hoped that the General would arrive soon - when Jack crashed, he was going to crash completely. She knew though that there was absolutely no point in trying to pry Jack out at the moment, not with Teal'c and his teams in danger.  
  
"Sir, Sir, we have something on radar, " one of the technicians said excitedly. "It's making a controlled descent, and should be on track to land at Patterson in approximately..." he paused for a moment, evidently doing a quick calculation. "One minute thirty seconds Sir".  
  
Janet felt the depression start to lift, but then processed the words. Surprisingly, Jack articulated the thought before she could.  
  
"Only one track detected?" he demanded. "Yes, Sir, " the technician replied. "I'm still searching." She saw him waver momentarily, and then straighten up again.  
  
"Alright, alert Air Traffic Control and emergency response teams."  
  
Jack reached over to tap the comlink to Space Control. "Commander Doull, focus the array on the two flight paths if you can. See if you can see anything out there."  
  
"Already done, Sir," she replied. "I'll let you know as soon as we find anything."   
  
Jack shrugged, clearly doubting the optimism her words implied, then focused on the screen now showing Patterson Air Force Base's Air Traffic Control tower.  
  
Janet stood there, hugging the wall, and hoping desperately for news of the safety of the crew now headed towards them, and the safety of the other craft.  
  
"We have visual contact, " a voice finally said, "Repeat we have visual contact."  
  
"Second track now detected, " interrupted the technician. "ETA Patterson, two minutes." A cheer broke out in the room. Jack waved them down, his face still hard and pale. They weren't down yet.  
  
As Janet looked around the room to watch the elated faces, she noticed the General slip quietly in the door. She moved up to him from her place against the wall, but before she could say anything, Jack had homed in on them.  
  
"Sir, " he said glancing sideways at Janet, "You have command. The F-302s are on their way in, but no coms. We should know if they are ok in a few minutes."  
  
"Thank you Jack. Bring them home, and then you can brief me." The General turned towards her. "Doctor, what are you doing up here?" he asked.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill required some medical attention, " she replied sharply. "In fact, as of right now, I'm declaring him unfit for duty."  
  
"I see," the General replied. He turned to stare hard at Jack.  
  
Although the General was short, fat and balding, he had considerable command presence. He was more than capable of conveying his disapproval with little more than a glance. 'Could Colonel's quiver?', she wondered.   
  
The moment was interrupted though, by the beeping of the monitors. The General's eyes moved quickly back to the screen above them showing the radar track of the two rapidly descending craft. She stood back to watch - she wanted to know as much as anyone that their friends were down and safe.   
  
The room collectively held its breath. Suddenly, the signal from the internal cameras on the craft flicked back on as they reached the lower atmosphere. They could see that the crew was conscious - if barely. First one, then the other craft finally touched down. The room erupted in cheers. The mission hadn't been successful, but at least everyone was back.   
  
"Right Sir, " Janet said, advancing on the Colonel. "You're mine now. Come along please."  
  
"Please, Janet, just let me sit it out here. I won't be in command, and I promise I'll take it easy, scout's honor."  
  
"No, Sir, not one minute more, " she replied, glaring up at him, "There are plenty of other people here who can brief the General on what's been happening."  
  
Jack ignored her, and turned back to the General. "It might be a good time for alpha shift to take a break, Sir, " he said. "I've had the other shifts on standby for the last couple of hours while the F-302s were up."  
  
"Yes, do it," General Hammond said, nodding at Colonel Campbell to order the shift change. "The Mountain stays sealed though, until further notice."  
  
Janet spun around, and glared at the General. He waved his hands as if to protect himself, and started talking hastily.  
  
"I think you had better listen to the Doctor, son. You can fill me in on anything that the others can't cover later."  
  
"But, Sir," he protested, "I really need to bring you up to speed. And this is one of those one's that I really need to be here for."  
  
Outraged, Janet advanced on him, put her hands on her hips and pitched her voice to carry. "Jonathon O'Neill, she said, eyes flashing, "You know perfectly well that my orders override anyone else's on medical matters. I've given you a lot of leeway. But it ends, now. You promised to step down as soon as the General arrived, and he's here. Do I need to call an MP?"   
  
He started stepping backwards, towards the door as she moved closer. She heard the General asking Colonel Campbell to assemble a senior officer's briefing.  
  
As the door closed behind them, she saw Jack sag against the wall. "Just give me a second, Doc, " he said, waving her away ineffectually.   
  
She moved closer, in case he needed help. Before she reached him, though, his face turned abruptly green, and he slowly toppled to the floor.  
  
*************  
  
Hope you're still enjoying...do please review! 


	13. Saving Cheyenne Mountain

Author's notes: For those of you who don't recognize the references to tribbles, go watch Star Trek Deep Space 9's, Trials and Tribble-ations (Season 5), a brilliant episode that both spoofs and pays homage to the original series. It's worth watching (again) even if you aren't a DS9 fan!  
  
Also, the Mikado by Gilbert and Sullivan is an operetta (light comic opera) nominally set in feudal Japan - the full words of the song (which describes various punishments appropriate to assorted crimes) can be found online at several sites.  
  
Thanks to Jezowen, Village Mystic and Teri for the beta. Remaining errors are my own creation...  
  
Revised 4.24.2004  
  
  
  
*********  
  
Chapter 13: Saving Cheyenne Mountain   
  
Louis Ferretti wasn't merely irritated or annoyed. He wasn't just mad. He was plain out ornery by now.   
  
He ran his hands across the itching stubble on his chin and face.  
  
It seemed like he had been doing this task now for days, but in fact it was only a little over twenty-four hours. The few hours sack-out time he'd taken along the way seemed as if it had been weeks ago, and his normal good humor had evaporated hours previously with his last cup of coffee.  
  
Ferretti had stood around waiting to get into more buildings, crannies, and burrows in the rock of the Mountain than could possibly exist. And, of course, they all worked on a top secret, need-to-know basis. So even though he had a top security clearance, it wasn't like he could just wander in, unsupervised, and play on their computer to see what screensavers they had stored on them. He had been repeatedly informed that he simply did NOT need to know.  
  
As a result, he had missed out on all of the excitement of the first real test of the F-302s. Moreover, he still had a long way to go before he could say he had completed his task. And he was really missing the eight golden hours of real sleep that should have been his, oh, twelve or so hours ago.   
  
When Jack had ordered him to clean up all the Mountain's computers, he had thought it a fair thing. Oh, he hadn't constructed the damn screensaver himself, but he hadn't called them on it when he should have.  
  
Of course, he hadn't realized then just how many computers there were on the base. He bet Jack knew though - Jack possessed a surprising treasure of odd knowledge. And even if he didn't exactly know, Lou realized he could probably have made an educated guess as to the magnitude of the task - after all, six thousand workers, even if scattered across five shifts, added up to a hell of a lot of computers.   
  
And Jack, he knew from long experience, was firmly in the 'punishment should fit the crime' school of thought. Must be all that opera he listens to, he thought. Or did Gilbert and Sullivan really count as opera? He stopped himself as he automatically started humming the appropriate little ditty: "My object all sublime I will achieve in time - To let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime."  
  
He cut off his humming as he thought back grimly over some of Jack's previous efforts and shuddered. It could be worse, Ferretti reminded himself, at least there isn't a Lord High Executioner lurking about trying to cut off my head.   
  
It wasn't even like he could justify calling off his screensaver hunt after looking in a few locations and say it hadn't escaped from Space Control.   
  
Truth was, it was everywhere. The screensaver - in various versions - had bred like tribbles. So much for the Mountain's IT security procedures. Worse, it seemed to have acquired considerable genetic diversity, making it harder to detect and destroy. Hah, he was on the great screensaver hunt - though he doubted anyone would be raising statues to the hero of this hunt.  
  
Some people - the Harrison Ford fans no doubt - had stuck with the original screen capture from Air Force One.   
  
Then someone had thought of swapping the plane for a spaceship. The Enterprise looked just great with Jean-Luc Picard doing the 'get off my ship' routine. Somewhat less so with a little cartoon pot-bellied General Hammond. He resolved to make sure the General never saw that one - it didn't exactly enhance the command aura of the head of the SGC.  
  
His personal favorite was General Jacob Carter on the Red Dwarf. Although he did wonder why the Space Weather people had been the ones cherishing that particular version. Had someone there been on the receiving end of the General's wit at some point? Or was this evidence of yet another security leak - albeit a less publicly compromising one - as well as a rather pointed political commentary on the quality of their dubious ally, the Tok'ra's, ships? In the end he had just added it to his report for someone else to worry about.  
  
His main problem, after all, was the Goa'uld space ship image. It had clearly been just a matter of unhappy serendipity that Daniel Jackson had happened to put that shot of the mothership SG-1 had captured on his own computer around this time, and that it had been so easy to copy and substitute in to the screensaver.  
  
So here he was, 250 down, 5,000 to go.  
  
He racked his brains to think of a way of short-cutting this process. If his solution was creative enough, Jack might let him get away with it - provided he had suffered enough first.   
  
He decided to head on down to the SGC and tackle its computers next. At the very least he could get more sympathy there - and maybe find some 'volunteers' to help. Or maybe he could get Siler or someone to certify the wretched things as virus-free, and then he could try and persuade Jack to let him off for the night?   
  
It was worth a try at least.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Jack O'Neill stared out at the vista, puzzled. He really couldn't remember where he was, or how he had gotten there.   
  
He was standing on bare rock, looking out across the world, literally, seemingly on top of a Mountain. A precipice on a very tall Mountain. So tall in fact, that it seemed to pierce the atmosphere, giving him a view of the Earth as if he was in orbit.   
  
He looked around at the desolate landscape. Nothing grew.   
  
Miniature continents and islands were rotating slowly, as if he were on one of those revolving restaurant tracks. He recognized the effect - it was the view he had seen from Thor's ship, the first time Thor had beamed him up.   
  
Yet he wasn't actually on a ship this time. He wondered briefly how he could be breathing in the thin upper atmosphere, but dismissed it as irrelevant. He was obviously dreaming.  
  
In the distance he could see bolts of electric blue lighting up the darkness. The storm seemed to be moving towards him. He began to get alarmed as the sizzling bolts echoed around him, with occasional ear-shattering bangs as the bolts shattered the nearby rocks.  
  
Alright, he thought, that's enough. End dream. Now.   
  
He struggled to wake up.   
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Suddenly, one of the lightning bolts hit him, and he was ripped into the air and flung over the side of the precipice. He tried to grab at the rock as he fell, but the wind pulled him further and further away.  
  
Automatically, he maneuvered himself into the position he had been trained to assume when jumping, and he felt the gentle sensation of freefall rise up to support him. He floated, only the slight pressure of the air telling him he was in fact falling. He reached automatically to locate his parachute's ripcord.   
  
Ah, he thought, no parachute this time. Still, it's only a dream isn't it?  
  
He looked down, and saw that the Earth continued to rush towards him. It looked very real.  
  
Regret poured through him for all the things undone, all the things unknown. He wished he hadn't lost his temper with Sam - he really should have managed the whole situation better. And Teal'c - how badly injured had he been, had he survived?  
  
Charlie, he thought mournfully, and turned a lonely somersault.  
  
He tried to shed his regret with the wind, but failed, gripped still in nightmare.   
  
The lightning bolts were coming closer again, chasing him to the ground. He raced to beat them, only to feel the tingling sensation of an Asgard transporter.   
  
He blinked, expecting to find himself transported onto an Asgard mother ship, but instead, when the tingling sensation stopped, found himself inside a death glider. The lightning bolts were still searching for him, shaking the craft uncontrollably. It started doing wild loop the loops, then switched to a nose dive. "Teal'c," he called out to the pilot, "Can't you regain control?"  
  
"I regret O'Neill, that you are only a clone. It is therefore better that you die."  
  
Jack flung himself desperately at the instrument panel, trying to seize control. It was too late, however, and in his last moment of consciousness, he screamed a lonely Nooooooooooooooo.  
  
*********************************  
  
Dr Janet Fraiser watched anxiously as Jack O'Neill writhed and screamed, twisting from side to side in the infirmary bed. She contemplated the scene: Jack O'Neill ill, and none of his team here to keep watch. It was almost a first. The SGC grapevine was clearly failing. Or else things were even worse than she had realized with SG-1.  
  
Even as she thought it though, she heard footsteps in the corridor, and a saw Sam peek cautiously in. Janet hastily pretended to be marking observations on Jack's chart.   
  
"I heard you'd dragged him down here, Janet, but what's wrong with him? Shouldn't you wake him up?" Sam said, eyes locked on the figure in the bed.  
  
Janet took in Sam's appearance. Her face was tense, hard even, but her eyes looked ashamed, guilty. Janet watched as Sam's fists curled then uncurled compulsively.  
  
"No," Janet replied. "At this stage it would actually make him worse. He's already got too many drugs in his system, combined with too little sleep. To wake him, I'd have to give him more. The dreams should start to wear off fairly soon, and he really needs the sleep, disturbed or otherwise. He'll be fine, Sam, really."  
  
Janet put the chart back in its place at the end of the bed, and reached out to touch Sam's shoulder. Sam shook her off angrily.  
  
"I should get his test results soon," Janet said, trying again to build a bridge between them, "but my guess is that he hasn't been sleeping at all for several days. Do it for long enough, and you get rapidly accelerated ageing, coupled with diabetes. Sleep deprivation can have pretty serious effects."  
  
Janet watched as Sam nodded her head, her pinched face turning a little paler. She turned away from the bed and stalked towards Janet, finally lifting her eyes to glare at her.  
  
"So can't you do anything about it? He looks like he's having a bad nightmare," Sam said tersely.   
  
Janet took a step backwards, guilt at her failure to diagnose the Colonel's problems before he collapsed fuelling her need to get away from Sam's anger. "I've done what I can to counter the symptoms, but in the end he really just needs to sleep," she said. She waved her hands, pointing at the IV pushing fluids into Jack's veins, and started to walk towards the door. "Look I've really got to go and do rounds. Not much more we can do now anyway."  
  
"No, but we should have been there for him, should have stopped him before he collapsed," Sam whispered.  
  
Yes we should, Janet thought as she left the room, leaving Sam watching over him.  
  
Janet sagged against the wall in the corridor outside Jack's room to pull herself together. It was bad enough that she had failed the Colonel, without Sam attacking her as well. Guilt manifesting itself, Janet reminded herself, she'll get over it.  
  
As she recollected herself, trying to breath slowly and deeply, she was startled to hear the soft murmur of Sam's voice waft through the doorway. Janet twisted her head back around the doorway, and her eyes softened as she saw Sam gently stroking Jack's hand as she spoke.  
  
Janet hastily withdrew, and crept off down the corridor to give her privacy.   
  
**********************  
  
As he walked past Carter's office, Lou Ferretti saw that the lights were on. His bad temper dissolved at the prospect of someone he could share his gripes with. He poked his head in, to find Sam no place in sight.   
  
Instead, Daniel Jackson was lounging, with his nose in a book, while the new wunderkind from upstairs, Adams, played at Sam's computer.  
  
Typical Jack, he thought, picking up the bright young things and grabbing them before they woke up and could run away. He thought back fondly to his own recruitment to Jack's Spec Ops team.   
  
He wondered though, why Daniel was babysitting. "Hi, guys, " he said. "How are things?"   
  
"Hi, Ferretti," Daniel replied, "Have you met Lt Adams?"  
  
Lou turned to the Lieutenant, who wasn't looking much better than Lou himself. Adams' eyes blinked out of dark-ringed circles from too much screen reading and too little sleep, the effect accentuated by his fair complexion and reddish-colored hair.   
  
"Certainly have, " Lou said, nodding politely, "We've worked together briefly in NORAD. How did they capture you kid?"  
  
The young man's eyes crinkled together for a moment, tensing along with his body, then relaxing again almost as abruptly. "I'm working on a project for Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter, Sir," Adams replied.  
  
Lou wondered what Jack had done to him to make Adams react so strongly to the notion of being captured - of course, being dragged down to the mysterious SGC and told goodness knew what probably felt pretty overwhelming for someone straight out of school.  
  
"Lucky you, " Lou replied. "Where is Jack anyway?" He turned to Daniel. "I need to find him and see if he'll let me off the great screensaver hunt for the night. " Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adams turn back to the computer, and hit a few more keys.  
  
"I thought he was still upstairs, doing his King Under the Mountain routine," Daniel replied.  
  
"Nah, the elevator guard told me the General was back, " Ferretti replied. "Apparently Jack came down with Dr Fraiser a few hours ago."   
  
"Really? " said Daniel alarmed. "I wonder why he didn't come and see how we were doing? I hope he's ok. Perhaps we had better go and see how he is?"  
  
"I'm sure he's fine or Janet would have let us know," he replied.  
  
As they talked, Lou could hear industrious tapping on the keyboard, as Adams continued his work.  
  
Suddenly, the noise stopped, as the lights in the room flickered then died.   
  
The hum of the air conditioning rapidly following suit.   
  
After a second, they could see the red emergency lights in the corridor turn on through the still-open door.   
  
Lou quickly ran to the phone to find out more, but it was dead. In the flickering half-light of the emergency lighting from the corridor, he could see that Daniel was searching in a drawer. The slim beam of a flashlight flicked on, illuminating a frozen Lieutenant Adams, standing like a deer in front of headlights. Daniel thrust the flashlight at the Lieutenant, making sure he grabbed it, even as he kept moving towards the door.  
  
"Stay here, Lieutenant, " Daniel instructed over his shoulder. "We'll be back as soon as this emergency is over, but we've got to get to our posts."   
  
Daniel rapidly left the room, with Ferretti hard on his heels.  
  
**************************  
  
Methos stared out the door at the departing figures with satisfaction. The 'I'm as surprised as anyone, I'm totally innocent' routine had worked. Finally, he had the lab to himself. He doubted whether the systems crash he had initiated would hold up for long: it wasn't that sophisticated a virus. All it really did once activated was to tell a computer to close down any system it controlled. Of course, if it controlled something fairly vital, well then, he was in luck.   
  
At least it had given him the diversion he needed so he could set his bomb. He thanked again the boredom that Space Control shifts obviously engendered, and which had allowed him to subvert their harmless little games into something far more deadly, something that gave him this window of opportunity.   
  
He wondered again whether he was doing the right thing. Hundreds, perhaps thousands would die, entombed in this Mountain, if he succeeded. He hardened his heart. It was for the good of the many, he reminded himself. Earth must not be enslaved again by the Goa'uld.   
  
Once he would have been confident that the little gray alien Asgard would be watching, protecting the Earth, providing a safety net. No longer. He thought back to the events that had led him here, and let himself be absorbed by the flashback.  
  
*************  
  
THREE YEARS EARLIER  
  
The increasing swell of the waves throbbed beneath him, rocking up against the boat. The gathering dark warmth of the breezes of the Pacific made the sails flap, adding to the creaks and groans of the boat. Clouds raced in front of the sparkling stars, signs of the gathering storm.  
  
Methos liked the sea. True, he liked it a lot more nowadays, with all the comforts a modern ocean-going yacht offered. But whatever he might publicly claim, he had always been willing to climb on board any vessel that offered the lure of the sometimes soothing, sometimes roaring, never-safe seas.  
  
Still, he thought, these days there were no undiscovered lands to find, no 'here be dragons' warnings on the map. This was just a pleasant interlude, a temporary escape from the pressures of immortal life. And there was no point in enduring a storm unnecessarily.  
  
Reluctantly, Methos reached to turn the wheel to start heading back to land. California, he guessed, was two or three hundred miles away. The yacht edged around, then jumped as it turned into the wind. He ducked to avoid the boom as it swung around, and the yacht commenced its inward tack.  
  
Abruptly, the waves worsened, surging over the deck, and trying to take him with them as a loud, fiery ball burst across the sky above him, its tail illuminating the ocean all around him. The wind around it tried to suck the boat into the sky, then dropped it down, hard. He could hear plopping sounds as debris entered the water all around him.  
  
Was it a plane crash, he wondered, or perhaps a meteorite? One of the pieces dropped heavily onto the deck of the yacht. The Alexa bucked for a moment, before settling back into the rhythm of the ocean's swells. The bombardment ceased as suddenly as it had begun.  
  
Scrambling across the rolling deck to investigate, Methos felt the distinctive hum of the metal before he touched it. Asgard, he realized, horrified, as he stared at the twisted hunk of obviously alien metal in front of him. An Asgard ship had fallen out of the sky.   
  
He stared, frozen, until a rhythmic thumping sound alerted him to approaching helicopters.  
  
Pushed to action, he grabbed the crystals embedded in the fused mechanism that sat accusingly on his deck, and heaved the machinery over the edge of the yacht, into the deep water below.   
  
The foam-flicked waves thrown up by the helicopter's blades faded from Methos' vision as the memory released him.   
  
He had waved off the helicopters, but when he'd arrived at last in port, military officers claiming to be searching for parts of a downed satellite had questioned him carefully. Methos had admitted seeing the descent of the craft, but nothing more. The yacht had been thoroughly searched, but no one had thought to search the carefully constructed inner lining of his coat, home to his sword, and for a time, a few rocks.  
  
*************  
  
CURRENT TIME  
  
Yes, Methos told himself, he had no choice but to destroy this nest of Goa'uld vipers here and now, along with the Gate that had let them establish this foothold on the Earth. If they could destroy an Asgard ship; had already, probably destroyed Earth's ancient guardians, there was no deus ex machina ready to step in at the last moment, no hope of rescue for the Earth except for that which he could effect.  
  
Grim-faced, he clenched his teeth and moved quickly over to the lab bench, and pulled out the equipment he had assembled. Turning a naquadah reactor into a bomb was an easy task: it required little more than changing the power settings, taking the modulation controls offline, and setting the timer.  
  
He suppressed the sense of elation that flooded through him, that had always buoyed him as he went on a raid, or plotted death for hundreds, nay thousands.   
  
The hardest part of the operation was deciding how long to set the timer for. How long to death and destruction?  
  
**********************  
  
Do please review, and tell me what you like or dislike..... 


	14. Found Out?

Chapter 14: Found out?  
  
"Shit," a voice said loudly.  
  
General George Hammond looked up with displeasure from the papers he was reading at his desk in the center of the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center, ready to chide whoever had uttered the expletive. Before he could speak though, he heard the rest of the exclamation.   
  
"What's a code 10?"   
  
There was panic in the voice, the General noted automatically as his head jerked up towards the screen. His eyes became captive to the flashing alarm. "Power outage in the SGC. Code 10 has been initiated," he read. A timer was counting down from just under ten minutes, the seconds flashing away.  
  
Things just kept getting worse. The trip to Washington had been bad enough on its own. He hated having to smile and talk politely to people whom he knew full well spent most of their days plotting to stab him in the back. Bureaucratic politics really made his day. But then to have the HAL protocol activated, and be stuck in a plane while it was all happening had been aggravating in the extreme, even with Jack's regular updates.  
  
Now, his command - his real command, not this parvenu domain - was in trouble, and he wasn't there. George Hammond seethed with frustration. This could be it, he realized, the opening move by whoever was hiding from them in Earth's orbit. He needed to know, now, if this was the first move of an attack. Was the enemy even now pouring through the Gate? Or was it just a random system failure that would be quickly repaired?   
  
Ignoring the unidentified voice's question, he picked up the direct line to the SGC. It was dead.   
  
"Get me communications back, now, " he ordered, gritting his teeth as he glanced around the Operations Center in search of a familiar face. He really needed to return to his own control room, his own people. "And you, Lieutenant Simons - get down to the SGC and try and make face-to-face contact before they go into quarantine mode."  
  
His eyes followed the young officer as he left the Control Center, wishing he could go himself. Unfortunately, the HAL protocol dictated that he had to be up here. Oh, he understood the rationale for his being here - hell, he had developed the protocol in the first place. He grimaced again - he had argued against this. The SGC, after all, had its own command and control center, and he could just as easily operate from there. NORAD though, had argued against him, afraid of being caught without the right 'special' knowledge. It hadn't seemed worth insisting at the time.  
  
He just hadn't anticipated the HAL protocol running in conjunction with a Code 10. He had always expected to be in the SGC, in control, if the self-destruct sequence started.   
  
George Hammond got up from his desk and stalked across the room and leaned in front of the officer staffing the console to demand an update from Space Command. "Still nothing on the screens, Sir," came the reply through the microphone.   
  
As he thought about what to do next, he decided he had better enlighten the remiss young airman who had failed to study his alert codes. The people here - his people, now - needed to understand what the stakes were if they were to do their jobs.  
  
He turned back in the direction of the speaker, and identified the voice as that of an olive-skinned young man, who visibly quailed in the face of a general bearing down on him. He studied the young man's name badge. "Lieutenant Lucas," he said. "A Code 10, as you ought to know, is where the SGC auto-destructs. If their power stays out for more than ten minutes, the system assumes it's the result of an enemy attack, and sets off the auto-destruct countdown. If there's no countermand, after another five minutes, it blows."  
  
Without power, the iris that protected the Stargate from alien invaders couldn't be closed. So if the power stayed off - or someone tried to dial into the Stargate while it was off - the SGC would automatically be sealed and destroyed.   
  
"And us with it, Sir?" The Lieutenant asked with the callousness of youth.  
  
The General worked to control himself. It was his job to work with the people here, ensure that they could continue to do their jobs as needed. Everyone in the control room, he noticed, was listening in carefully, although some concealed it better than others.   
  
"Well son, that probably depends on whether it is in fact an enemy attack. This could be the first stage of the attack from space we've been waiting for - in which case we are all going to be in trouble. If, on the other hand, it's just the SGC that's affected we should be safe enough - the SGC is in the old Titan missile silo, several hundred meters below us, and well separated. As you know, everything on this level is on giant shock-proof springs designed to withstand a nuclear blast. In theory at least NORAD is completely insulated from anything that could happen down there," he replied.  
  
Lieutenant Lucas gulped at the words 'enemy attack' and blanched even further at the 'in theory'. All the same, Lucas managed to mutter a "Yes, Sir", and bent down to do something on his computer. Good choice, Hammond thought to himself, wishing once more that he could be down in the SGC.   
  
The General gazed around the control room again. To their credit, his people here were doing their best - ignoring the threat, and working efficiently and calmly. He could hear them trying to re-establish communications with the SGC, checking status with Space Control, activating extra guards on the entrances. Still nothing changed on the screens.  
  
General Hammond forced himself to logically assess the situation, and determine what else needed to be done. He quickly reviewed again everything that had happened - two satellites, including one of the SGC's sentinels, displaced from orbit and out of action; a mysterious object in orbit that they couldn't find; the attack on the F-302. And now the SGC taken out of play. Space Control still weren't seeing anything, he noted, but the SGC's power hadn't come back on. In the circumstances, he had to assume this was the opening salvo.   
  
Before he had time to act on this assessment, Colonel Dwyer, the head of the Command Center's Gamma watch, looked up from the terminal he had been working on and spoke up. "Sir, recommend we go to DefCon 2. "  
  
"Thank you Colonel," he replied. "I concur."  
  
General Hammond picked up the red phone. He didn't have to wait before General Jumper identified himself. "Sir," he replied, "the SGC is out of contact with a power outage. We have to assume this is it. Recommend we go to DefCon 2."  
  
He stiffened automatically to attention as the familiar voice asked him to hold. In the background, he heard the President's voice. It only took a few seconds before the confirmation came back.   
  
"DefCon 2 is confirmed, " the General said. "The President is leaving for the bunker now. In the circumstances, Air Force 1 doesn't seem to be the best option."  
  
"Yes, Sir, " he replied.  
  
"We'll contact you as soon as we arrive in the war room. Good luck, George, " General Jumper added, before putting down the phone.   
  
Hammond followed suit slowly, and replaced the phone carefully in its holder. He reached out and pushed a button on the terminal in front of him. An alarm sounded as the DefCon warning sign on the wall switched up a level. In the distance he could hear a distinctive grinding sound as the massive, 30-ton granite doors swung shut and sealed off the Mountain from the outside world.  
  
Now that he had done everything he could up here for the moment, his thoughts turned back to the SGC. He couldn't help worrying - a Code 10 was nothing to joke about at the best of times, but with his normally indefatigable 2IC, Jack O'Neill, out of action, he was stuck with one of his least favorite watch commanders in place. Colonel Edwards, he gathered, had returned early from off-world, just in time to take charge of the shift. He just hoped the man could be more flexible than he often seemed.   
  
*************  
  
In the labyrinthine depths of the Mountain, Methos slouched in the semi-darkness. The eerie red glow cast by the flashing lights on the now unmoving air only enhanced the sense of shimmering malignancy that emanated from the naquadah bomb on the lab bench-top. He stared, as if hypnotized, by the effect as the countdown started.  
  
Outwardly, nothing much had changed as the reactor had been transmuted from benign energy source to harbinger of destruction. The gauges and equipment attached to it were still live, despite the power blackout, drawing from their own power source. It was just that there were a few more of them than before. More strands to subvert it to his ends.  
  
Methos puzzled for a moment, trying to work out what Major Carter had been trying to build and test. But then he felt the ancient memories rise up, swamping all rational thought. He fought once again for control of his mind. To know what was his own mind.   
  
Methos reached up to touch his face, expecting to find a stripe of woad coloring half his face blue, as it had when he was Death. Or more accurately, when Death controlled his body.   
  
You are dead, Death, he told himself, gone, pulled out. Death is a dead, false god. He laughed, then tried to pull himself under control, push down this hollow remnant, this empty memory. It had no power over him now.   
  
Yeah, the voice whispered. So that's why you're going to just casually kill a few hundred people. Can't let the power go, can you? Prove that you're not Death, switch it off!  
  
He stared, locked into place, for another few moments, but managed at last to wrench his eyes away from the timer, even though his mind continued to resonate with remembered fear and pain.   
  
This had to be done, he reminded himself. The lives of those working here were already forfeit. He had to act for the billions on Earth who would be enslaved or worse. Yeah sure, the voice in his mind said. Duncan Macleod, your heroic Highlander friend, would be proud of you.   
  
Alright then, he admitted to himself. So he wasn't just acting for the greater good. He still wanted - no needed - revenge for himself, some closure with the Goa'uld. Most of all though, he wanted to protect the future that he would have to live in.   
  
Methos picked up the flashlight Daniel had thrust at him, and tried to distract himself with the task of deciding what to do next. He couldn't help though, remembering once again that moment of exhilaration, of joy, when Death had been destroyed.   
  
********  
  
Death and his three brothers, War, Pestilence and Famine, lay helplessly, furious, staring at the unadorned walls of the enemy spaceship. Death watched as his little gray nemesis efficiently strapped his body to a table. He wanted to scream, he wanted to howl in fury. A millennium trapped on this backwater planet, and now, when they had finally managed to repair their ship sufficiently to be able to escape - and with immortal hosts their prize - the Asgard had snatched it all away.  
  
"Ra will punish you for this, " Death said in a low, deadly voice. "Earth is not a protected planet, it belongs to Ra - and he will punish all who dare encroach on his domain."  
  
"Ra hasn't dared venture near Earth for several millennia, since the rebellion succeeded, " Thor calmly replied. "Nor has he attempted to rescue you since you crashed here a thousand years ago. I very much doubt that he will intervene now, " the Asgard replied. "Nor will we allow him - or you - to use these hosts even an hour longer," he added.  
  
Trapped within his body, unable to speak, Methos felt a spark of hope surge up. He had done his best to fight the demon inside him. There had been no sarcophagus to assist it in subduing him, and so the intruder-God had been forced to rely on the pain and terror it could inflict. And immortal bodies could suffer immense pain.   
  
But now, after a thousand years of terror, hurt and anger, he felt as if nothing was left. He longed for oblivion. Did the Asgard mean that he would grant him true death?   
  
At times, he had come so close to winning the battle against his conqueror, gaining minor victories: a small kindness here or there to the slaves; allowing some of his victims to escape. Cassandra, he thought, with remembered sorrow.  
  
From the little corner of his mind that he was permitted, Methos watched the short gray alien, wondering what he was going to do. Then Thor pointed a long rod, alight with glowing crystals, at him. Not a sword then, to cut off his head, and the snake with it. Disappointed, he watched to see what would happen.   
  
As the Asgard continued to point the rod at him, a hot burning sensation spread slowly down his head and spine. He writhed in pain, re-doubled when the snake released its venom, determined to kill him as a last spite-filled gesture before it was forced to disentangle itself from his system, and leave his body. He gagged before he died, when it finally squirmed out of his mouth.   
  
  
  
When he revived again, he was still lying flat, but was no longer tied to the table. The real difference though, he could feel, was in his mind. There was a hollow space, where once had dwelled the demon-God. Tentatively, he moved out beyond the narrow space of his mind that he had hidden in for so many years, and explored. As the magic of immortal healing worked its power, he opened his eyes to orient himself, and looked into the limpid eyes of the Asgard. The weight of his joy pressed up, and freed his vocal chords, enabling him to cry out, free at last.   
  
Then an insidious voice started whispering once again in his mind. You can never be free of Death, it said, I am your God, and you will always serve and worship me.   
  
NO! he screamed, and started to try and started to fight himself upright. But then the little alien reached over and touched his arm. "It's just a memory, " Thor said. "The Goa'uld is no longer in you. You must fight it, reclaim your own mind now."  
  
Don't trust him, the voice whispered in his mind, I am still here, still real. I am your God, and Gods cannot die.   
  
But when Methos fought back, pushed back the voice, there was no burst of punishing pain, no retribution. He was truly free. Exhilarated, he reached out to the little alien, and grasped his hand.  
  
*****  
  
The Asgard had done their best for them. They had subjected Methos and his brothers Kronos, Caspian and Silas, to weeks of re-education - deprogramming really - before returning them to Earth. And blurred or suppressed some memories, Methos suspected.   
  
It hadn't been enough though. Methos had returned to something like his former life. His brothers though, perhaps because they had only been immortals a short time before they were possessed, hadn't been able to shake off the effects. Oh, they'd managed to give the Asgard the right answers at the time, eventually.   
  
Even now, though, Methos himself couldn't always tell which thoughts were genuinely his, and which came from the dark presence that lurked within his memories. How much did Death - or fear of him - still drive his behavior?   
  
As his mind shifted back to his present dilemma, Methos' hands moved automatically to switch on the narrow beam of the flashlight. Quickly, he switched it off again. His computer virus was proving more effective than he had anticipated, and he might need to conserve battery power.  
  
He considered his options. He really needed to get out of the SGC, and back to NORAD. Dying unpleasantly wasn't actually on his to do list for the day.  
  
Not that it would be that great a problem if he did: the USAF would likely pull out all the stops to recover the bodies - not to mention the top secret equipment - from the base, even if the destruction was reasonably complete. The reactor was small, little more than a toy model really. All the same, he had no desire to be at ground zero. Even if he wasn't decapitated by debris, or pulverized in the explosion, there was always the risk that he could be trapped in death for a very long time.   
  
Methos double-checked his memory of the plans he had found in Carter's computer. There should be an access shaft leading to the surface just down the corridor. There was plenty of time.   
  
Finally, he made his decision. The SGC's archive would only be a slight detour along the way. It had taken him more than a year to backtrack and find this little alien toehold after the crash of the Asgard spaceship, and then another two to lay and execute his plans for its infiltration and destruction. He could spare a few minutes to make sure he had identified all the tentacles this invasion force had extended into the rest of his world.   
  
His first step, though, should be the armory located on this floor. He repeated to himself his favorite mantra: never count on getting out without a fight.   
  
Methos ignored the voice still whispering in his head, trying to subvert him from his path, as he headed towards the open door and looked into the corridor. The guard was still in place. "Airman, " he said, "Can you give me a hand for a moment? I need to move some equipment out of the way."  
  
The SF dutifully walked into the room, peering in the darkness. The man was large and well trained - but Methos was prepared. Before the man could even react, he took him out with a few quick jabs. Swiftly, Methos bound and gagged him using duct tape and wire he had found in the lab and put aside in case he needed it. He dragged the unfortunate soldier into a corner where he would be concealed from casual scrutiny, and taped him to the bench-leg. Satisfied with his handiwork, he ruthlessly searched the guard, scooped up his pass card and weapon, and headed for the door.  
  
Methos turned on the flashlight to do a last sweep of the lab in search of useful items. He picked up the small hand-sized device on the shelf that had intrigued him earlier. Methos wasn't sure what it was, but it looked vaguely Asgard in origin. It might prove worth investigating further once he got out of here.  
  
*************  
  
Jack woke, surprised and yet resigned to find his hands tied together. He swayed, finding himself propped up between two guards. He opened his eyes further. OK, so perhaps he hadn't really woken up. He hoped.   
  
In front of him stood Colonel Harry Maybourne, NID agent, traitor extraordinaire, and sometimes, in a slimy sort of way, almost friend.   
  
Except that this was a glowy-eyed Maybourne, resplendent in one of the gaudiest outfits he'd yet seen on Goa'uld. And the competition was fairly fierce.  
  
As Jack looked around the room he recognized most of the scene. It was his last mission, the mission that had landed him in the infirmary with brands burnt into his flesh.   
  
He tried to fight his way back out of sleep, but found he couldn't even move his limbs. Or was that just how it had been? He gave up fighting, and let the dream memory flow.  
  
"Weren't you supposed to be living out your retirement on some quiet little planet courtesy of the Tok'ra?" Jack asked not-Maybourne.   
  
After they'd been marooned together on an alien planet and almost killed each other Jack had thought Maybourne deserved a bit of a break. Besides, Jack had managed to shoot him twice during their little sojourn. He'd almost managed to purge his store of outrage at Maybourne's utter lack of any principles whatsoever.  
  
"Yes, well, the Tok'ra, " Maybourne replied, the distorted tones of his Goa'uld voice jarring oddly with the Maybourne-esq overtones. "Not the most reliable of your allies you know. And so easy to infiltrate. "   
  
"So who are you then?" Jack asked.  
  
"Not who your little Asgard friend thought, that's for certain," not-Harry sneered. "Not so all-powerful after all, are they? I am Lanthos. Kneel before your God."  
  
Jack groaned, and winced as a Jaffa dropped him to the floor. "I really wish you guys would vary this routine a bit - couldn't we bow before you Japanese style or something. My knees are just so not liking this." He sagged as the Jaffa kicked him again, sending him sprawling on to his stomach.  
  
"Certainly, Jack, " the Goa'uld replied, its voice rasping. "Didn't the peasants adopt just the posture you are in now? Head in the dust? You will likewise learn your place and obey, as a slave."  
  
Jack started shivering uncontrollably as, at a nod from Lanthos, the Jaffa kicked him in the ribs, before picking him up and starting to tie him to a metal frame.  
  
In reality, he remembered, he had employed all his training to stop himself from crying out. This time, in the surreal silence of his dream, his throat opened, and he was powerless to stop a long scream from escaping, as he struggled.   
  
His scream seemed to be echoing, loudly. Jack fought the bindings that tied him to the metal platform, desperately trying to avoid the hot irons being pressed into his skin.   
  
He woke suddenly, bleary eyed, to find himself in the infirmary. He was about to let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he could still hear the scream - no longer his own, but transformed into the wail of the base's alarm. As the room came into focus, he saw a figure dashing out of his room out into the red-lit corridor.   
  
He focused on the words coming across the intercom. "I repeat, auto self-destruct has been initiated. In accordance with Code 10 requirements, this base has been sealed. I repeat, this base will self-destruct in five minutes."   
  
Jack really, really hoped that this was another dream.   
  
*************  
  
Sam dashed out of the infirmary and ran hard to the control room. As she climbed the ladder in the emergency access shaft, she felt a momentary pang of guilt for leaving Jack by himself. She hoped the medical staff would make sure that he was ok while she handled the situation. Assuming that she could.  
  
She entered a dark room swirling with panic. A group of junior lieutenants were milling about, shouting at each other over the top of the wails of the alarm - and effectively stopping the people who did know what to do from doing their job.   
  
In the background, the normally flashing panels in the room - bar one - stood dark and silent. She supposed she should be grateful that the main computer, with its own special naquadah-generated power remained active, but it was hard to generate much enthusiasm for something that could cause her death if she couldn't get it to switch off the auto-destruct.  
  
She pushed her way towards the duty officer's station with difficulty. "Quiet," she yelled.   
  
The babble ceased. The flashing lights cast a glow over everyone, but did little to dispel the darkness. Unfortunately, the sudden silence was dispelled by the computer's saccharine tones on the intercom. "Auto-destruct in three minutes," it said, calmly, against the counterpoint of the alarm's wail.  
  
She grimaced. Couldn't they at least use something that sounded a bit sympathetic - perhaps they could borrow the actor who did that Star Trek computer voice?   
  
Don't get distracted, she chided herself. It is just panic, focus. What the Colonel would do?   
  
Ask questions, she told herself. Keep asking until you know why. Then act. She took a deep breath.  
  
"Who is the duty officer?" she demanded, still panting from her run.  
  
"Ma'am, Colonel Edwards went to see if he could get the generators back online, but we haven't heard from him since. He didn't take a radio," Sergeant Davis replied. He looked around at the others in the room, who nodded in confirmation.  
  
"Alright then, any clues as to what triggered the auto-destruct?"  
  
"It's automatic once the electricity goes down for no identified reason for more than ten minutes. It needs a countermand to extend the countdown or turn it off, Ma'am."  
  
"I know that Davis, " she snapped back, "but what caused the power outage in the first place?"  
  
Davis shook his head.  
  
"Has there been any sign of a direct assault, or an attempt to open the gate?" Sam demanded.  
  
"Negative, ma'am," Ziplinski replied.  
  
She peered down into the gateroom, and saw more SFs enter. They were pulling out the heavy artillery and moving it into place, ready to withstand a full attack if that should prove necessary. It seemed a futile activity with the base about to be blown up.  
  
"Right, first up we need two authorized watch officers to override the auto-destruct, assuming we should do that. You, Lieutenant, um, Menard, go see who you can find. If you can't find anyone on this level, head down to the infirmary - worst case, you'll need to help Colonel O'Neill up here. "  
  
She turned to the next of the milling hordes. "And you, Ziplinski - take a radio up to the Generator room. We might need Colonel Edwards back here straightaway if we can't find anyone else. Davis, you set up the authorization code screen so we can stop this thing, while I try and find out what shut the power down in the first place. Everybody else, out please. NOW."  
  
As they exited, Sam sat down at the computer and started pulling up the key status reports. She hadn't been working long when the lights suddenly came back on.   
  
Moments later, Ferretti entered the room, trailed by Sergeant Ziplinksi. "Let there be light, alleluia," Ferretti intoned, as equipment started humming again. Sam let off a sigh of relief, as Ferretti sat down at the keyboard beside her, ready to enter his codes.  
  
Just as they were about to start, the radio beside her crackled. A tinny sounding voice started speaking. "Control room this is Colonel Edwards. What is your status?"  
  
"Sir, good to hear from you. This is Major Carter. Power has been restored and all systems are coming back online. Permission to disengage the auto-destruct, Sir? Over."  
  
"Negative, Major, that's a negative." The voice through the radio crackled. "We still don't know the reason for the outage. We have to assume that this is a hostile attack, and they are already in the SGC. Code 10 remains in place. Over."  
  
"But Sir, can't we at least extend the countdown?" she protested. "There's no way I'll be able to track down the problem in the time left." She looked at Ferretti with dismay.  
  
"You heard my orders, Major, " Edwards replied. "I suggest you work quickly. Over."  
  
Sam turned, and stared at Ferretti. "Auto-destruct in one minute," the computer announced.   
  
****** 


	15. Fixed?

Author's Notes (amendment2 - 20.3.04): Thanks again to Jezowen and Village Mystic.  
  
Thank you so much for your reviews, do keep them up, I always enjoy and am thrilled to see people still liking it (as well as to hear from the newcomers)! Glad people liked the explanation for Methos and the Horsemen. In response to a few points raised:   
  
Sidhe-ranma - yes, my Colonel Edwards is (I hope) in line with the series one. Gateworld describe him as "brash and no-nonsense, devoted to duty and with little patience for those who stand between him and his goals."   
  
GGS: I checked all the relevant episodes, plus the main guides to the Stargate universe, and couldn't find anything suggesting the iris can be operated manually. However, Jedi Buttercup now tells me its in Lost City 2 (us poor deprived Australians haven't seen it yet - I knew I should have given in and watched the squinty!). I initially decided to take out the reference to the iris (and revised accordingly) but have since had a better idea - what if the ability to do a manual override was added as a response to these events? This story after all takes place earlier in Season 7 (pre-Heroes). Expect to see it later in the story - assuming the Mountain survives Methos' efforts!  
  
CHAPTER 15: FIXED?  
  
"58, 57,..."  
  
Sam's gaze hardened as the computer started its countdown to the destruction of the SGC. From his station at the far end of the room, Sergeant Davis stared wide-eyed at the two officers.  
  
"Couldn't we at least extend the countdown?," she said to Ferretti. She turned back to the computer, hands poised to type in the override code, when the phone from the Control Center started ringing. She went to pick it up, but Ferretti put his hand over hers, blocking her. She looked you up at him inquiringly.   
  
"Code 10 means we are under quarantine; no communications outside the base," Ferretti reminded her, his voice edged with tension. "Colonel Edwards could be right, we may have been infiltrated," he said as he glanced back up at the countdown.  
  
Glaring back, she snapped, "Yes, but more likely it's just a computer glitch, " she snapped. "And there's no way I can tell one way or the other in time."   
  
She glanced quickly at her computer, still frozen on the override screen, and then met Ferretti's gaze again. "I really don't think I'm quite ready to die yet, " Sam said, pleading with him. "Not unless I know why I am doing it."  
  
"The order was clear, " he replied, but he no longer sounded so sure.  
  
"Yes, but Colonel Edwards isn't here. How can he make a proper threat assessment?" she replied. "Only the officer on station has the power to make the decision. And you're senior, Lou, " she said.  
  
Ferretti stared back sat her as the computer continued its muted count. "25, 24...."  
  
They broke eye contact as the door burst open behind them. A second later, Colonel O'Neill almost fell into the room. He was wearing white medical scrubs, which only accentuated the perspiration beading on his pale face, together with heavy field-boots. His hair was spiked and wild.   
  
"So, Carter, Ferretti, " he said, nodding at them. "I know I was a bit tough on you both last time we met. But isn't blowing up the Mountain a bit of an over-reaction?"  
  
***********  
  
General Hammond glowered at the phone as it rang out yet again. Above his head, a clock displayed the countdown to the auto-destruct. His board showed that power had been restored to the SGC - yet they were still in lock-down mode. This was looking bad. He started pacing the room, ignoring the sidelong glances of the officers around him.  
  
Over the intercom, the computer generated voice murmured its countdown to doom. "SGC self-destruct in 15 seconds."   
  
"Sir, Space Control are reporting OSCAR II now re-entering the atmosphere, " Lt Forrester said.  
  
General Hammond resisted the urge to shout at him, Don't you know all my people are about to die? What do I care about a piece of old space junk? Instead, he asked, "What is the projected impact?"  
  
"Space Control believe it will burn up in the atmosphere, Sir", the Lieutenant responded. "But in any case it's coming in over the Arctic. Little risk of hitting anything. "  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant " he forced himself to acknowledge calmly. The clock was showing 8 seconds to go. "Notify all relevant authorities."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"6, 5, ...."  
  
He waited for the clock to turn over, but it hung there, unchanging.   
  
The General blinked and looked again, but the image of the clock on the screen stayed still, then changed to a message saying "Self-destruct aborted at T minus 5 seconds."  
  
"Yes!" he shouted, punching the air with his fist. "Get me the SGC on the phone, NOW. "  
  
***********  
  
"Sir, " Colonel O'Neill said to the phone tiredly, "We're fine. No sign of alien infiltration. The power is back up, but we don't know what caused the outage."   
  
"Colonel O'Neill, what are you doing out of the infirmary? And where is Colonel Edwards?" General Hammond demanded.  
  
Jack could feel the General's relief pouring through the several hundred meters of rock that separated them, though his excitement and relief was clearly mingled with frustration.  
  
Jack tried to share the General's elation, but the miasma of sleep and drugs had started to creep back, clouding his thoughts now that the prospect of imminent death was over.   
  
"Well Sir," he began, "it was pretty hard to sleep with that siren wailing in my ear. And then, letting a bomb go off seemed liked a fairly drastic cure, even for the big honking headache I had, so I told the kiddies to shut the damn destruct thing down. As for Colonel Edwards, haven't seen him. Apparently he left the Control Room to play engineer, but didn't leave anyone in charge as such. Sir."  
  
Jack sagged back in the chair to wait for a response from the other end of the phone. Sweat was stinging his eyes, so he rubbed his forehead to push it back. He winced as the movement pulled the burn on his arm. He really needed to get back to the infirmary, he realized as he rubbed his eyes. He wiped his hand carefully on the infirmary scrubs he was wearing, then grimaced as the thin synthetic refused to absorb the moisture.   
  
The General replied, "Very well, Colonel, you'd better stay in charge for the moment if you're up to it. Let me know as soon as you find anything."   
  
Jack shifted his grip on the phone to ease the ache in his arm as the General's voice shifted to a growl. "And have Colonel Edwards report to me up here as soon as you locate him."   
  
"Yes sir, " Jack replied, and replaced the phone in its cradle.   
  
Jack brought his attention back to the little group standing in front of him. They were still looking at him puppy-dog eyed, grateful to him for digging them out of the hole Colonel Edwards had dug for them. Nothing like a crisis to bring a team back together again, he thought..   
  
"Right, Davis, you had better start doing a floor by floor status check."  
  
"Yes, Sir, " the Sergeant replied, and moved across to his computer station.  
  
"OK, Carter, Ferretti you had better fill me in properly. Where were you when this started and what have you done so far? You can start, Carter. "  
  
He watched, disconcerted, as Sam's face flushed bright red. OK, so maybe overruling Edwards on the auto-destruct hadn't been quite enough to overcome her anger at him.  
  
"Well, Sir, I wasintheinfirmary, " she mumbled quickly, avoiding his eyes.  
  
Despite her embarrassed mumbling, he had heard what she had said just fine. It had obviously been her figure he had seen fleeing his room in the infirmary when the alarm had started. Woohoo, he thought. So maybe we are ok again.   
  
He stared at her as she continued, trying to look encouraging at this sign of reconciliation, but didn't interrupt.   
  
  
  
"I reached the Control Room and took charge, as the most senior officer present," she continued. "Major Ferretti was in the gateroom, looking after the defenses, so I had him join me so we had a second officer for the override. I also sent Ziplinski with a radio to find Colonel Edwards. The Colonel managed to get the power back on, but ordered us not to override the Code 10, sir," Sam replied.   
  
He rolled his eyes at the Major's descriptions of events. "Oh for crying out loud!" he said. "Hasn't Edwards read the rules about staying at your post? So no indications at all that we've been infiltrated or something?" Jack asked.  
  
"No, Sir. We had a power outage that triggered the code 10, but there is no evidence as to what caused it, " Carter replied. She was still looking carefully at anything but him.  
  
"Ferretti, anything to add?"   
  
"No, Sir, Major Carter's pretty much covered it. The SGC's computers were next on my list, and so I was looking for Major Carter in her lab when the power went down."   
  
"Alright, let's see if we can find out what happened. Carter, you take the computer records. Ferretti, get a status report from the SFs on each level, then co-ordinate a sweep of the base just in case. I'll just wait to have a little word with Colonel Edwards."  
  
"Yes, Sir, " he heard Ferretti say. "Um, Sir, " Carter asked. "Would you be able to check on the alpha site delegation? My father and Bra'tac are in the briefing room."  
  
Jack's face turned hard as he looked at her. "Major Carter, what did I say when you suggested contacting our allies in the briefing upstairs?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.   
  
"Sir, you ordered that we not contact our allies at this point." She rushed on quickly before he could interject. "But I didn't, Sir," she looked back at him defiantly. "They arrived at their own instigation, without any advance warning to us."   
  
He decided to let it go for now. "Very well," he replied. "I'd better tell the world what's going on before I head over to the briefing room, " he said, and switched on the intercom.  
  
******  
  
Methos hurried up the last few steps of the ladder to the next entrance, and hung there, listening intently for the sounds of any SGC personnel nearby. He eased the hatch door open and checked that no one was in sight. The corridor was silent and empty, save for the message echoing from the speakers.   
  
"...repeat, auto-self-destruct has been terminated. All personnel, remain at your emergency stations until we have determined the cause of the power outage, " Colonel O'Neill's voice said. "All floors, report status to Sergeant Davis in the control room."  
  
Methos let out a sigh, half-relief, half-disappointment. It would have been poetic justice for the SGC to blow itself up. Never mind, he thought, the SGC would still blow up - but at his hands, not theirs. Inside him, something gloated. He quickly suppressed it, and started walking stealthily down the corridor towards the archive room, listening intently for any extraneous sounds.  
  
*******  
  
Jack walked out of the control room into a milling crowd. His headache started throbbing viciously again, and he rubbed his eyes in irritation. He decided he needed some caffeine, together with any happy juice the doc would let him have. He grabbed the nearest tech, and said, "OK, you, make yourself useful and get me some coffee! And you, grab me some BDUs, would you. Better get the doc up here as well." He raised his voice. "The rest of you, get back to your posts. The excitement's over for the moment."  
  
As the crowd dispersed, he wondered what had detained Colonel Edwards. He clicked on the radio he had picked up. "Edwards, " he said, "This is O'Neill. Report, Over.  
  
"I'm right here, Colonel O'Neill," Colonel Edwards replied grimly, as he came around the corner towards him. "And just what do you think you are doing here overriding my orders?"  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud, Edwards, " Jack said, "Get your ass into gear. Have you found out what caused the power to go out?"   
  
"No, " Colonel Edwards replied. "But it wouldn't be an issue if your 2IC had followed her orders."  
  
"Yeah, well personally I'd rather have a few problems and be alive. And unless the aliens are actually pouring through the Gate, I'd rather have Earth's frontline defense facility actually operational if it's all the same to you. Have you had your head up your ass, or should I put you on lock-down?"   
  
Jack held up a finger, effectively cutting Edwards' reply off, and proceeded to check off his points on his fingers. "First, you were not at your post, so you had no power to give orders to the officers who were there. Secondly, it was pure luck that they were in the control room, since you appear to have decided to wander off and play Mr Fix-it without putting anyone in charge in your place. Thirdly, I am second-in-command of this facility and CAN therefore override your orders. And right now I am ordering you go to up to the Operations Center and explain to General Hammond just why you thought it would be a good idea to blow up his command. Unless you actually did have some concrete evidence of an immediate threat to Earth?"  
  
"No, SIR," Edwards replied, through obviously gritted teeth. He came to attention and gave Jack a mock salute before turning smartly and heading back down the corridor.  
  
Jack waved at the nearest SF, and indicated that he should escort the Colonel to the General.  
  
"Asshole, " Jack muttered. On the plus side, he noted that anger had dissipated the pain in his head.  
  
**********  
  
Seated in the control room, Sam tapped at the keyboard, attempting to access and analyze the log to the power system. Then she found it: the computer had been instructed to close down all power systems. She started tracing back the command. The phone to the Operations Center rang. She reached to pick it up. "Carter, " she said.   
  
"Is Colonel O'Neill there, Major?" General Hammond's voice said.   
  
Sam shifted in her chair, and forced herself to concentrate on the General's query. "No, Sir, sorry, he's in the briefing room. Would you like me to page him?"  
  
"No, it's OK Major, I don't think it's urgent. Can you let him know that the response to his inquiry on some scientists in South Africa came back. They didn't have much luck in tracking them down from what I can see. Tell the Colonel that I'll get the full report sent down to him," the General said.  
  
"Yes, Sir," she replied.  
  
"Any progress yet, Major?" the General asked.  
  
"Some, Sir," she replied. "I think I've found something in the computer log, but I need to backtrack a bit to see what triggered it."  
  
"Alright, Major, good work. Let me know what you find."   
  
"Yes, Sir," she replied.  
  
**********  
  
As Jack re-entered the control room, he saw that Ferretti had moved across to the command and control station in the corner, while Carter was still working on the main Gate computer. From her excited face, she had obviously found something. He blinked wearily and tried to dispel the fog of fatigue that swirled around his head.  
  
"What have you got, Carter?" He sat down heavily in the chair next to hers. The screen of the computer at his station, he noticed, was now filled with the dreaded screensaver. That little cartoon was really starting to get on his nerves. Ferretti, he resolved, still had some work ahead of him once this crisis was over. There were security implications at having stray software on top secret screens after all.  
  
"Well, Sir, the log shows that a C245 was sent, instructing the system to close down. Here I'll show you," she said reaching over to tap a key. "I'm trying to backtrack the source of the command now, " she replied, "But it looks like it came from another program."  
  
"Corrupt code or a virus?" he said, thinking out loud. "OK, that's a start. Keep going and let me know what you find, " he said.  
  
"Oh, by the way sir, the General rang to say there had been a response to an inquiry you made - something about South Africa? He's sending down the full report, but said to let you know that they hadn't been able to track down the people you were after."  
  
Jack considered this latest piece of intel and fitted it with what he had already found out. He thought for a moment.  
  
"Carter, where did you park Lieutenant Adams?" he asked.  
  
"He's in Major Carter's lab," Ferretti said before Carter could reply. "I was talking to him and Daniel when the alarm went off and we had to get to our emergency stations. I told him to stay put, and anyway, there was an SF outside the door."  
  
Jack thought over what he knew about Adams for a moment. No-one at MIT had heard of Adams, and now his alleged supervisors couldn't be found. If ever there was a time to play safe, this was it. "Ferretti, get someone to check in with the SF and have them bring Adams here."   
  
His eyes turned back to the screen, thoughtfully. The screensaver danced through its now familiar routine once more.  
  
"Holy Hannah!" he exclaimed, stealing one of Sam's favorite expressions. "What are the prime sources of a computer virus, Carter?" He didn't give her a chance to reply. "Emails, infected files on disk,...and screensavers."  
  
She watched, flummoxed, as he quickly started clicking his mouse and typing on the computer. With impressive ease, he pulled up the code that generated the screensaver, and started carefully scrutinizing it.  
  
She blinked and looked again. The Colonel, she had to concede, clearly did know what he was doing when it came to computers.   
  
Only a few seconds later he leaned back, looking, if possible, even more pained. "Well," he said, "it seems we have a saboteur." He pointed his cursor at a few short lines of code embedded in the little program. She paled as she viewed the evidence, all thoughts of the Colonel's computing prowess pushed to the back of her mind.  
  
"The base's mainframe is completely isolated from external systems," she said. "You need to have physical access to the SGC to trigger the shutdown order. And the whole Mountain is still sealed." Sam looked up and stared at him. "Whoever did this - they're still down here."  
  
****  
  
Still liking? Please review and let me know... 


	16. chapter 16

Author's Note: Thanks again to Jezowen and Village Mystic.  
  
Rev 4.9.04  
  
***********************************  
  
CHAPTER 16: CONFRONTATION  
  
Jack stared at the computer screen showing the virus that had shut down the SGC's electricity system, and nearly led to the destruction of the entire base.   
  
"It could be anyone," Sam said. "A NID plant, whoever it is up there that's kicking our satellites' butts, a Goa'uld spy in Dad's group....."  
  
"Let's start by eliminating the obvious," the Colonel cut in. "Davis, who do we have by way of visitors? And anyone recently back from off-world?"  
  
Sergeant Davis pulled out the control room log. "Sir, no teams have returned from off-world in the last 48 hours. Apart from the alpha site delegation in the briefing room, we have two groups of visitors - a team from the Pentagon doing an internal audit of the human resources team up on Level 6, and Lieutenant Adams."   
  
A knock on the door stopped the conversation short. The door opened, and a Lieutenant wearing NORAD insignia entered the control room.  
  
"You again, Simons, " the Colonel said from his chair. "You on elevator duty today?"  
  
"Sir, " he said, nodding to Colonel O'Neill. "Lieutenant Simons reporting. General Hammond asked me to deliver this report to you personally. It's the results of your South African inquiry."  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Was the General expecting a reply?"  
  
"No, Sir," Simons responded.  
  
"OK, dismissed then, " Colonel O'Neill said.   
  
As the Lieutenant turned and headed out the door, Jack flicked open the folder and started to read. He hadn't gotten far before he felt his headache intensify.  
  
"Shit," he said, and started leafing through the rest of the papers. "It has to be Adams."  
  
He stood up and started pacing around the room.   
  
"It wasn't just that the Embassy couldn't find his supervisors, " he said. "This report says there's no evidence that they ever existed - in South Africa or anywhere else!"  
  
Jack turned around to face his troops. They looked skeptical. "And it fits. Don't you remember, Ferretti?," he said, appealing to the Major. "When I first found the screensaver Upstairs, and put you on the detail to remove it, he went as white as a sheet."  
  
"That's a bit of a leap, Jack, " Lou replied. "He was in charge of Space Control at the time. Maybe he was just scared he'd get the blame? Just because some embassy jock can't be bothered doing a proper search doesn't mean they don't exist. Besides, he's just a bright young hotshot kid - why would he do it?"  
  
"He's definitely not Goa'uld," Sam put in. "I've sat next to him several times. Although I suppose he could have been brainwashed or drugged or something - a little Nish'ta, and then plant him on us. All the same, he doesn't act oddly. Frankly, he looks and acts exactly like you'd expect of someone straight out of school. And he did write that brilliant paper."  
  
"Yes, well, " said Jack, "that's the problem. The technique I developed based on that paper should have worked. Except that when I tried it with Adams helping, it didn't. Don't you remember Carter - you found that a couple of the data-tracks had been scrambled?"  
  
Carter suddenly became fascinated by the floor. She clearly remembered that part all too vividly - including that she had blamed the Colonel for the mistake.  
  
He moved on hastily. "There's more though. When I tried to backtrack him, I had no luck. His paper is listed on the MIT website, but he isn't. No-one in the physics department has heard of him. Now we find his thesis supervisors don't exist - and the report is pretty thorough."  
  
"Well in that case we had better find him and check him out more closely," Carter said. She turned to face Ferretti. "Has level 19 reported in yet? Someone had better check my lab."  
  
"No, " he replied. "Actually, I was just about to send out a runner. The phones and cameras are still out on half the levels including 19 - we'll probably need to do a manual reset."  
  
"Right, Ferretti," Jack said. "Take a couple of guards and go on up and have a look. I'll get someone else onto the floor-by-floor sweep. And you, Menard," he waved the Lieutenant closer. "I want you to go up to the security room and see if you can find him on the cameras."  
  
Before anyone could move, Sam jumped in. "Sir, one other thing I've just remembered. When Daniel and I bumped into Adams on the bus yesterday, Daniel thought he recognized him. Then he realized it couldn't be the same man, as he was far too young. Maybe he really is a Goa'uld, but is somehow masking the effect?"  
  
"Be careful then, Lou, " Jack replied. "And Carter, get Daniel up here so we can compare notes. His little bunch of rock-lovers and babelfish can do without their babysitter now that the immediate crisis is over."  
  
"Yes, sir," Carter and Ferretti replied, slightly out of time with each other. Ferretti snapped off a salute and headed out of the room.  
  
"In the meantime, Davis, " he said, "Put out an all-points alert for any visitors on the loose. "  
  
******************  
  
"So, General, now that you've heard our sorry little saga, what's going on up there? Any movement from our mystery object?" Jack looked up at the screen in the SGC's control room time to catch the General's grimace.  
  
"Well it would sure help if we could actually find it, son," General Hammond replied from the Command Center. "We've found a few more satellites out of place, so Space Command are guessing that its orbit's gone wild again, but we really don't know. "  
  
"As soon as I can, I'll go and see if I can untangle Adams' results," Jack promised. "In the meantime, how's the solar storm running? Can we get the F302s back up for another look?"  
  
"That's still a no-go at the moment, Jack," the General replied. "With any luck it'll have calmed down enough for us to take another shot at it tomorrow morning, but not much chance before then. I'd like Carter and her team to take a look at the data Teal'c obtained before we try again though."  
  
"Of course, Sir, " Jack replied. "In the meantime, can I have Teal'c back? I really need someone I can rely on to help out down here. I've got Carter tied up going though our computers in case there's anything else buried in them, and Ferretti running security, but we could all really use both some extra help and a break."  
  
"Sorry, Jack, but I can't make exceptions to the quarantine at DEFCON 2 - you know perfectly well that no-one goes in or out of the Mountain. Anyway, I've got the F-302s on standby in case we get any hostile moves. With you out of action, I need Teal'c experience with the pilots."  
  
Jack sagged.   
  
"If you're really desperate, I could send you some of Space Command's alpha shift - they've all been briefed already," the General added.  
  
"No thank you. No offense, but they're all scientists. It would take way too long to get them up to speed to take over Adams' research or to help Carter out. Besides, what I really need is someone to manage the security teams."  
  
"What about Jacob?" the General replied. "He and Bra'tac are probably itching to give a hand."  
  
"Yes, Sir. They were looking pretty pissed at not being involved when I looked in earlier. Unfortunately, they were also all that was holding back civil war breaking out in the briefing room between the Tok'ra and the Jaffa. I'd planned to send the lot of them back asap."  
  
"Couldn't Bra'tac manage them by himself for a while? I got the impression the Tok'ra respect him a lot," General Hammond replied.  
  
"Well, yes, in so far as they respect anyone who is not snaked. But you're right, he can probably keep them in order for a short time at least." And serve him right for his patronizing comments earlier, Jack thought, wondering why he always came off worst in his little exchanges with the old Jaffa.  
  
"Alright, Jack, I'll leave it up to your judgment," the General replied. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, son. You won't be any use to anyone if you collapse again," he added.  
  
Jack tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "Yes, Mum, " he replied. "But you don't need to worry. Dr Big-Honking-Needles is even now lurking outside waiting to get me. If you don't hear from me again, you'll know who to blame."  
  
"Is that insubordination I'm hearing there, Colonel?" the General replied, but his eyes were twinkling and he was clearly trying hard to suppress laughter.  
  
"Certainly not, Sir, I'll get right on with it, Sir," Colonel O'Neill said. He made a cutting motion with his hands, and the screen went dead.   
  
Jack turned around to glare at Sgt Davis, who was trying not to giggle.   
  
"Do we have a problem here, Sergeant?" Jack inquired, doing his best senior officer impersonation. "Perhaps the doctor needs to examine you before me?"  
  
Davis struggled desperately for a poker face. "Sir, No problem, Sir" he replied.  
  
Jack let it ride.  
  
*********  
  
Methos entered the archive file room cautiously, but relaxed when he found the room deserted: the file room was not, presumably, an emergency post. He wondered how long it would be clear for. The camera didn't seem to be working, so he should be good for a while at least.  
  
There was no obvious sign of an index or any easy guide as to what was where, except for a lone computer terminal near the front of the room, but it was turned off. He considered trying to access it. On balance, he decided it was too risky: it might alert people that he was here, or even trigger an alarm. He headed straight for the shelves in the hope that he could work out the system.  
  
Ah, bureaucracy, he thought. Even alien invaders liked to keep records of what they did. He started scanning. Fortunately there were clear labels on the shelves. The files seemed to be grouped broadly by subject, with numerical indicators within the broad groupings. As he searched for something more interesting than requisitions and personnel assignments, he couldn't help thinking of the scope this collection of administrative trivia might provide for thesis topics.   
  
Could these files be mined, he wondered, in a hundred, or perhaps a thousand years time for topics such as "Strategy and infiltration: the case of Sol III", "Policy versus implementation: the Goa'uld occupation of Sol III", or perhaps "The Effects of Goa'uld withdrawal and return on the culture of the Tau'ri? He certainly intended to be around to write them.   
  
*********  
  
Jack inhaled the caffeine from the mug of steaming hot coffee in front of him with pleasure, and then gingerly took a sip. For once the espresso tasted as good as it smelt: it was strong, spicy, and sweet. He could almost feel the boost hit his system.  
  
He took a bite of the sandwich that had appeared with the coffee, and swung himself around in a circle in the chair. He could get to enjoy this spot, he thought, as he surveyed the General's desk. He had commandeered the General's office to change in - after all, he couldn't exactly do it in the middle of the control room. More importantly, it was a more private location for Janet's ministrations. And he was, for the moment, the Commander of the SGC.   
  
Of course, that didn't mean that he wasn't above enjoying a momentary respite. He did another spin in the chair while he waited for her to arrive.   
  
Dr Fraiser didn't bother knocking. She stalked into the room, her hands on her hips and a look of steely determination on her face.  
  
"So, SIR," she said. "You escape from my infirmary after being relieved of duty on medical grounds, and then expect me to just give you a quick fix to continue on?" she glared at him fiercely.  
  
"Well actually, yes, Doctor, " he replied. "Unless you'd prefer that Colonel Edwards come back on duty and tried to blow us all up again?"  
  
Jack watched as Janet grimaced. It clearly wasn't an appealing option.  
  
"Look Janet, " he said, "I've already asked General Hammond for a relief, and the only thing he could suggest was bringing down some of the Space Command people, which frankly is just asking for trouble given that our prime suspect as saboteur normally works in Space Control."  
  
"Isn't there anyone else down here who could take over from you, Colonel?" Janet asked in a resigned voice.  
  
"Not really, " he said cheerfully. "Carter's working on the computers. Just want to be sure that we don't have any more problems hidden in our systems. Then I need her to go see if she can sort out the data Adams was working on, and what we got from the F302s. Ferretti's been doing great, but looks like he's going to fall over his feet any moment, and there's no one else with a command rating on duty. I'm going to get Jacob to help out, but he doesn't really know all our protocols and procedures. And we are at DEFCON 2."   
  
"All right, Sir, I'll do what I can to keep you going. But let me warn you that as soon as this is over, you will be in one of my infirmary beds so fast, you won't know what hit you. Nor will you be leaving until I say so. Understood?"  
  
"Agreed, " he replied. "Scout's honor."   
  
Janet shook her head, but ignored the comment. "I really shouldn't be doing this at all given that what you really need is a few more hours sleep."  
  
"And no whining at the size of the needle, " she added.   
  
************  
  
Jacob swiveled around in his chair in the control room as Jack entered the room. He had changed into BDUs, but without any insignia.  
  
"Um, Jack, " Jacob Carter said, "You've definitely got a problem with your Lieutenant Adams."   
  
"What have you found, Jacob?" Jack asked.   
  
Jacob pulled his earpiece out. "Lt Pritchard has just reported finding an SF tied up in a corner of Sam's lab. The SF says Lieutenant Adams called him into the lab. The next thing he remembers is waking up, bound and gagged. Nothing seems to be out of place as far as he could tell, but no Lt Adams to be found."  
  
"Great, " said Jack sarcastically. "Any sign of where he went?"  
  
"I'm afraid so, Jack. He made a little visit to the armory, told the guard he was acting under Ferretti's orders and loaded himself up with a pile of goodies. Unfortunately the camera was out, so we don't know exactly what he took or where he went after he left the armory. He's definitely not on level 19 anymore though."  
  
"Given that the elevators were out, he must have taken the emergency shaft," Jack replied.   
  
"I've got teams out doing a sweep of every level," Jacob said. "And I've put a guard on all the exits, and alerted NORAD, but odds are, he's already out. Anything else you want us to do?"  
  
"Make sure Sam goes up and checks out her lab as soon as she's finished debugging the computers. Other than that, no, just continue the sweep, and get those cameras back online," Jack replied. "Thanks for your help, Jacob, I appreciate it."  
  
He started as noise started coming out of the discarded earpiece. Jacob hastily reinserted it in his ear.  
  
"This the Control Room. Repeat your message please, over " he said.  
  
"We've got him on cameras, um, Sir," said a voice excitedly.  
  
"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. What is his location? Over, " Jacob replied, ignoring the hesitation over whether he merited a 'Sir'.  
  
"Archive room level 24," Lt Menard replied. "The cameras just came back online on that level. He seems to be hunting for something in the files. Over."  
  
Jacob raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Seems your boy hasn't left after all. He's in archives, reading a few files!"  
  
Jacob turned back to his control panel. "All right, Lieutenant, keep watching and report in straightaway if he looks like leaving. Over."  
  
"A paperwork addict!" Jack replied. "Sounds like he could be NID, Daniel's views notwithstanding. I'll take a team and see if we can bring him in," Jack said. "Get Ferretti to join me up there, would you, and make sure everyone else keeps clear until we are in place."  
  
"Sure, Colonel," Jacob replied, and started issuing instructions.  
  
**********  
  
Methos glanced at his watch. He had allowed two hours for his explorations of the archive, but even so, it was taking too long. He decided to skip over the next shelves and try starting at the farthest corner of the room, and work inwards, skimming the shelf titles. The room was awesome, he thought. There had to be over a million files here, some of them dating back to the 1920s, and the rediscovery of the Chappa'ai in Egypt.  
  
He'd already been diverted once, by the wartime files which detailed the Air Force's successful - if somewhat disastrous for the experimenter - attempts to get the Chappa'ai to operate. He hadn't realized that Dr Ernest Littlefield had actually entered the wormhole, and disappeared. A cross-reference to another file suggested that there had been further developments to the story, but he hadn't chased it up.  
  
Methos had also been sorely tempted when he discovered a section on the current reigning system lords - some up-to-date intelligence would be extremely helpful. It was not, however, his prime objective, and the clock was ticking.  
  
Starting at the back proved to be the right move. The first thing he hit was 'mission reports', which sounded promising. He pulled out a couple to come back to. He really needed to locate their liaison records with the Pentagon though, and anywhere else they were dealing with.  
  
Finally, Methos hit pay-dirt. He'd barely started reading though, when he heard the door open.   
  
He ducked behind the shelves in the corner, and held his breath. A team of soldiers entered the room, and did a superficial inspection. Methos watched, on tender-hooks, but they didn't venture near his corner. They did a superficial check of the room, then started fiddling with the camera in the far side of the room. It seemed reluctant to restart.  
  
When they finally finished testing the thing and left, Methos let out a sigh of relief. Glancing again at his watch, he sighed in disappointment, but decided that he was out of time. He grabbed a few files with promising titles and stuffed as many of them as would fit into the backpack he had acquired from the armory, then keeping low, he cautiously moved back towards the door, using the shelves as shields.  
  
He tried to judge the angle of the now-working camera to see if he could find the blind-spots. This was going to be tricky. And he had to move quickly - the time spent waiting for the team restoring the security systems had eaten into his margin for safety. He started working his way forward, ready to run the last few meters to get out of the door ahead of the camera.  
  
*****  
  
Jack relaxed slightly as his little band of fake camera repairers exited the archive room safely. He waited until they rounded the corridor before conducting a hurried conference with the team leader.  
  
"Sir," Sergeant Bollard said. "He was definitely there, hiding behind some shelves. I don't think he cottoned on to us though. Anyway, he certainly knows the camera is working now, Sir."  
  
Jack's eyes glinted with satisfaction as Jacob came onto his radio a moment later, and told him that his prey had crept out the door and was in the corridor heading towards them.   
  
He reviewed his forces - he was covering the emergency shaft himself, with Ferretti at the elevator.   
  
Signaling with his hands, he ordered his men to move in. He waited, ready to back them up if needed.  
  
"Halt and identify yourself," Sergeant Bollard challenged Adams.  
  
Instead of replying, the Lieutenant pulled out a zat and started firing. Bollard went down before he could even bring his weapon up, but Corporal Surma rushed forward, and managed to grab Adams from behind.   
  
Jack couldn't even see the movement, it was so fast. Surma crumpled as he hit the wall, then slid to the floor clearly unconscious. As Jack started to move forward, he pointed his P90 at Adams, and shouted: "Give it up, Adams, you're surrounded. I will shoot if you don't drop your weapon now."  
  
Adams started backing in the opposite direction. Jack watched as Sergeant Elder came around the corridor to try and block him off. Abruptly, Adams changed tactics, and moved straight for Elder, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand. There was a brief struggle.   
  
While it continued, Jack searched for a clear shot, but before he could take it, Adams had disabled the Sergeant, and was holding the knife to his throat.   
  
"Move any closer and I will kill him, " Adams said quickly into the sudden silence.   
  
Jack stared back at him, waiting for his next move.  
  
Jack watched as Adams reached into a pocket, one-handed. A Goa'uld sonic grenade came out.  
  
Jack didn't bother replying. Instead, he switched to his zat, and pulled the lever to stun his opponent. It hit its target, but Adams didn't even look dazed. He pushed the carotid artery in Sergeant Elder's neck, rendering him unconscious, then dropped Elder and the knife to the floor, and started running towards the emergency hatch, and Jack.  
  
As he ran, Jack could see him setting the grenade. Adams bowled the grenade towards him.  
  
Jack whirled out of his path, and managed to get off a series of blasts, disintegrating the grenade before it could go off.   
  
He saw Adams start trying to open the hatch. He looked behind his shoulder for a second, and could obviously see Jack moving back towards him. Adams started reaching for his gun. Before he could fire, Jack got off another shot from his zat, and hit Adams full-on.   
  
For a split second, Jack didn't think even the second, killing shot on the zat was going to work. Then Adams crumpled, and fell to the floor at Jack's feet. He jerked once, then stopped moving.   
  
Jack toggled his radio. "Get a medical team up here, " he said tiredly. "I've got three injured, plus one hostile presumed dead."  
  
Jack prodded the body cautiously, then leaned over to check for a pulse on Adams' neck. As he expected, there was nothing. Two zat shots were inevitably fatal.   
  
He looked down sadly at what had been a promising young man, and wondered how on earth he had been corrupted so early in his career. Then Jack turned away to head back to see how his injured were doing.  
  
Before he took a step though, he heard a loud indrawn breath from behind him. He turned, and saw Adams' eyes roll open and blink, as another breath racked the supposed corpse.   
  
************************************  
  
Do please review and tell me what you liked and didn't....I thrive on feedback! 


	17. Capture

Author's notes:   
  
First an apology - despite all your enthusiastic support, it has taken me a while to update. I've had more than a few diversions to cope with in RL over the last few weeks, some positive, others rather less so. Your reviews did however spur me to get back to it, so here it finally is. Hopefully I should get a reasonable amount of writing time over the next few weeks - but please do keep up your prods!  
  
And now for the thank yous. Thank you first of all to the fabulous Jezowen and Village Mystic. They are making this story much, much better than it otherwise would be, as well as far more fun to write. They put up with at least seven attempts at bits of this chapter, and still managed to keep track of the ever changing plot development order!  
  
Secondly, a big thanks to all of those reading this, especially those who have reviewed. I've been amazed at the number of hits this story has received. And I was totally overwhelmed by the reviews for chapter 16, it was a fantastic response, thank you so much.   
  
I really treasure all of the feedback you send. I'm pretty sure I couldn't keep writing if it wasn't for the level of interaction my betas and your reviews provide. I really appreciate the concrete suggestions and reactions. For the Danielites, (SallyK, Moonbeam) a little taster in this chapter, more on the way very soon (along with more of the rest of the team)! Kyra, hopefully things are continuing to come a bit clearer, although don't think its all over yet!   
  
Thanks too, though, to those who just said more please (and from Myst...moremoremore) - you really do push me to get back down to it. Of course, I'm sure it was the threat of the headhunting zombie pygmies coming to my house that finally did the trick!  
  
One other note - Moonbeam, your review of the revised chapter 7 is on the mark - there are some hints dropped there that will become important to the story later (although for those who don't want to reread, don't worry, I'll recapitulate enough for you to follow).  
  
Thanks again and bear with me,   
  
Magda  
  
***************  
  
CHAPTER 17: CAPTURE  
  
Jack stared, transfixed, as the body in front of him convulsed and then drew a massive, racking breath. Adams' eyes flickered open momentarily, then slid shut again. Jack noted that Adams' chest had started to rise and fall again, but there was no sign that he was conscious.   
  
What was this, he thought, Terminator? Would nothing kill him? Adams had been dead, he was convinced. No-one - or at least no-one purely human - could survive two zat blasts.   
  
Jack pulled out his P90, and hoped it would work. "Hey Ferretti," he called. "Come and give me a hand, he's still alive."   
  
Troops started pouring into the corridor. He waved them across to help with the injured and secure the area, even as he continued to watch the body tensely. Adams didn't move.  
  
"Sergeant Gardner, check on the others, would you, " he said to one of the newcomers, and pointing in the direction of the downed SFs. "Lou, you search Adams. I'll cover you." He gestured to one of arriving troops to come over and help.  
  
Jack took stock of the situation. Adams had managed to take out three well trained SFs in seconds. Although Elder was at least awake, Bollard and Surma were still out of it, sprawled unconscious in the corridor in front of him in the wake of their attempt to capture Adams.   
  
Jack wondered why Adams hadn't killed them. Why had he used a zat rather than anything more permanent? If Adams survived, they really needed to interrogate him.  
  
"Bollard and Elder are fine, Sir," Gardner interjected. Jack spared a glance to see that Sgt Bollard was starting to wake up. Gardner had moved over to Surma. As he did so, the medical team appeared in the corridor. Jack gestured at them to stay out of his line of fire. Gingerly, they moved around him, and prepared to move the injured airmen to the infirmary.  
  
Jack watched for any reaction as Ferretti carefully patted Adams down. There was none. Lou gingerly handed off the zat, then removed a gun strapped to an ankle. As his hands reached Adams' arms, he stopped to remove stilettos from each of his wrists, before carefully unzipping Adams' vest.   
  
Jack grimaced as the contents of the level 19 armory started appearing in front of him. Why did they let SG-3 have toys like this anyway?  
  
Lou started warily pulling weapons and ammunition from the vest's pockets. After several spare rounds came first another Goa'uld sonic grenade, another handgun, two conventional grenades, some C4 and a smoke bomb. Each item was handed over to Gardner who in turn was handing them off for storage at a safe distance.  
  
Jack was still watching Lou pass across more items from the small arsenal when suddenly Adams' hand reached up and pulled Lou down on top of him. Adams' legs snaked up and wrapped around Ferretti's before Lou could react.   
  
Lou grunted in surprise at the throttling grip around his neck. His body jerked about spasmodically as he struggled to free his legs.   
  
Jack sighted his weapon, but sighed in frustration as he was unable to get a clear shot. He was forced to watch helplessly as Lou's arms flailed about, unable to get any leverage.   
  
Before Jack could run over and help him, Lou slumped, unconscious. Adams grabbed the item that Ferretti had been trying to remove. Jack couldn't quite see what it was.  
  
"Stop, " Jack yelled, "or I'll shoot. And I'll make sure it's permanent this time."  
  
Time slowed as Adams stood up carefully, dragging Lou with him, a hand firmly wrapped around Ferretti's neck. Adams released Ferretti abruptly, letting him slide to the ground. Jack barely saw the sudden blur of movement as a leg kicked out viciously. He did see the SF who had been creeping up from behind Adams fold to the floor with a thud. But before he could take advantage of the moment, Adams yanked Ferretti back up in front of him, as a shield.   
  
"If you kill me, Ferretti will die as well, " Adams sneered. As he spoke, a flash of light shot out from his hands, and the object made a loud pinging noise.  
  
Jack seized the momentary distraction, and took the shot.   
  
Blood spurted from Adams' shoulder, and he gasped in pain. He released Ferretti , leaving him to crash back to the floor, still unconscious. The object tumbled out of Adams' hands, onto the concrete floor, still beeping.   
  
"Damn," Jack said in dismay. It was the Asgard communication device that they kept in the arsenal near Sam's lab that Adams had been playing with, and he'd just set off the emergency alarm. Sooner or later, Thor would swoop in, and on past performance, beam him up to his ship without warning. Just what Jack needed to make his day.  
  
Adams took in the look on Jack's face, and slowly lifted his arms into the air in surrender. He then moved his left hand across to clutch his bleeding shoulder. "I give up," he said.  
  
*********  
  
Joe Dawson rolled over onto his side, and glared at the green glow of the clock radio. He sighed to himself: this hour of the 'morning' was not his idea of a time to be awake. He listened intently for a moment, but the only sounds in the apartment were the hiss of the air-conditioning, and the normal creaks and groans of the building. It wasn't Methos returning home that had woken him, then.   
  
The room was still shrouded in darkness, so Joe tried to relax his mind and get back to sleep. Unfortunately, he felt wide awake.   
  
Restless, Joe reached down to rub the stiff stumps of his legs, then rolled over again to shift onto his back. He lay there for a while, pondering the clues the enigmatic old immortal had thrown him the night before. Playing Methos' Dad could be fun. But he wanted to know just what his 'son' was up to first. Resolution gripped him - it was time to take a little look at the computer belonging to a certain Really Old Guy. He levered himself out of the bed and into the waiting wheelchair.  
  
He turned on the lights, then started maneuvering his way around the books and cartoons still strewn across the floor of the main living area. It didn't take long before he was sitting at Methos' computer, a cup of coffee steaming next to him as he switched on the system. Joe looked idly out the one- way floor-to-roof window onto the still-dark street below, and thought again about the contradictions that made up his friend.   
  
The apartment was chromium-new in style, with white walls, wooden floors, and cream colored furniture. In the kitchen area, metallic appliances gleamed above the black granite breakfast-bar. Only the beer bottles left over from the previous night undermined its pristine clarity.  
  
The starkness of the color scheme, though, was offset by the splashes of color on the canvasses stacked ready to adorn the walls, the scattered artifacts, and the still half-empty bookcases that blocked off two long walls of the open-plan living area.  
  
And Methos hadn't neglected his physical security either. Apart from the panoramic view of the street below, the apartment had three exits that Joe had been able to find so far. Joe wondered if the windows were bulletproof. Probably.   
  
All the same, Methos' specifications hadn't all been self-serving. Joe had been touched by the effort that had been made to make the place wheelchair-friendly, even down to his own specially adapted bathroom.  
  
It was the computer, though, that was the real irony. The oldest man in the world was also the world's greatest techno-geek. The computer positively bristled with every new toy available. It had all the latest security features too: the system was built around a docking station for his laptop, giving him a removable hard-drive.   
  
Joe carefully entered the password Methos had provided, and placed his finger on the scanner-pad to be read. Damn if the computer didn't then demand the answers to some rather personal questions. Joe shook his head and answered reluctantly. He hadn't even known Methos knew all that stuff about him.   
  
Once in, dozens of programs jostled for his attention. He went into the directory to see what was there. It was, as Joe had expected, logically laid out and clearly labeled. Joe could see folders such as journal, personal papers, translations, and astrophysics.   
  
The biggest folder contained what appeared to be another of Methos' infamous databases. Joe sighed. Didn't Methos ever learn? His last database - on immortals and their Watchers - had caused havoc when it had nearly been made public.   
  
Joe clicked on the X-Files folder to see what was there. The database had sub-directories for the US military, Cheyenne Mountain, UFOs, Roswell grays, and more. A quick perusal of the latter two sections showed that Methos had apparently caught the alien conspiracy bug.   
  
Joe decided to leave the database for a moment and try opening the journal first, as a short cut. He quickly found that it was password protected - and not by the password Methos had given him either.   
  
The familiar theme tune of Mission Impossible started playing through the state of the art sound system. A warning message popped up. "You have attempted to access a protected file. This file will self-destruct in thirty seconds unless you enter the correct password or press escape now...Joe, if that's you, no cheating!" Joe hurriedly pressed the escape key and backed out.  
  
*********  
  
Jack sagged against the wall as the last of the medical teams and guards exited the corridor.   
  
"All clear, Sir," Ferretti reported. Jack watched Ferretti rub his neck gently, wincing when it apparently set off a twinge of pain. "No sign of anything in the archive room, and no other casualties found on this level," he said.  
  
"Thank you, Lou," Jack acknowledged. "You had better get down to the infirmary and get yourself checked out. You need a break anyway, you look ready to drop."  
  
"With all due respect, Sir, so do you. And you were injured and in the infirmary before this whole thing started." Ferretti moved closer. "I can keep going a while longer if you want to take a rest, Jack," he said in a softer voice.  
  
"Yeah well, this time I wasn't the one who was nearly strangled. Besides, Adams or whoever he is managed to activate an Asgard communications device. So I'm waiting around for Thor - or maybe Loki - to do his beam me up thingy. No way am I going to be sleeping or something when that happens."   
  
Jack glared down at the floor to hide his discomfort at the thought of the Asgard's transporter device. Just why HAD Adams triggered it?   
  
Was it an accident? Was he just trying to cause confusion? Or could he be working with Loki, or perhaps some other renegade Asgard?   
  
The thought that Loki might be lurking up there in the mysterious object in orbit was almost worse than the notion that it was concealing an alien invasion force. He pulled his hands behind his back so Lou couldn't see that they were trembling. He wouldn't come out sane if he had to undergo another torture session masquerading as a genetics experiment - with him as lab rat.  
  
Things were pretty bad, he reflected, when he actually hoped that, communications device notwithstanding, Adams proved to be a Goa'uld, or at least working for them.  
  
"Anyway," he said. "I want to have a crack at interrogating Adams before I call it a day. We have to know if he's working with whoever it is that is playing around in our sky. I heard from the General just before we came up here - the mystery object seems to be on the move again, and its up to its old tricks of destroying anything that gets in its way."  
  
"Well at least come and grab something to eat while the Doc does her thing," Ferretti replied.  
  
"Only if you go down to the infirmary and get yourself checked out, "Jack replied.  
  
"Deal," Ferretti responded.  
  
**********  
  
Joe leaned back and stretched his arms above his head until he could feel his joints creaking. He could feel the tension in his body from sitting still for too long, so he decided to get something to eat before he launched into Methos' database. Reveling in the chance to stay off his artificial limbs for the moment, he rolled his chair into Methos' kitchen and fixed himself more coffee. He found some bread and toasted it, added some jam, and took his breakfast back to the study.  
  
He moved to the 'X-Files' folder on Methos' computer. The US military section proved to be a record of strange events surrounding any and all US military bases. Many had zero entries, or only one or two, most of which appeared to have been quickly discounted. Joe could see from the date of the entries that Methos had originally started with all bases in scope, but had gradually lost interest in all but a few sites - including Cheyenne Mountain and something called Area 52 - which had reasonably extensive listings.  
  
It was fascinating to see Methos' meticulous research skills at work. As Joe dug further, he realized he was reading the research that had led to Methos' current job. Methos had, for some reason, been hunting for the center of activity associated with some UFOs, one of which he had noted himself as the observer. And he had found that center here, in Colorado Springs.  
  
He looked at the most recent entry for Cheyenne Mountain - it was about sightings of 'alien bugs'. The media had reported it as the side-effect of a chemical spill. Methos, though, had noted that the military, rather than the civilian authorities, had put the whole town into quarantine. Moreover, he had managed to obtain and test a pill that had been given out to those affected. It had proved to be a simple placebo, nothing more than sugar.  
  
Joe looked back further. There were several instances of the Mountain being sealed and troops being brought in. Other entries were much weirder: repeated influxes of large groups of oddly dressed refugees speaking languages no-one knew and requiring urgent medical treatment; claims that time had run slower around the Mountain for a few days; and reports of mysterious people dressed like something out of the 60s version of Lost in Space, who could walk through walls.   
  
It was an impressive catalogue - and each of the entries had extensive links. It must have taken Methos months to put together. All the same, the content was like something out of the worst tabloids, notwithstanding the careful documentation and analysis. If it had been anyone other than Methos, Joe would have been inclined to dismiss it as paranoid sci-fi rubbish, or perhaps the rabid jottings of a manic fanfic author.   
  
Reading between the lines though, it was evident that Methos had been torn between two paradigms: was a case of MiB rule, with the good guys protecting the Earth and hiding the truth from an unsuspecting public? Or was it an X-Files style evil alien invasion by stealth?   
  
Joe stared out through the window, sightless, absorbed in thought. His mind was still reeling in disbelief. He was dying to quiz Methos. Not that he could count on getting any more out of him in person than he had already, if past experience was anything to go by. He grinned to himself as he remembered some past attempts to extract information from the slippery immortal. Had he really shared a stage with both Julius Caesar and the Rolling Stones? Truth or lies, life was never dull with Methos around.  
  
But the thing that really aroused his Watcher instincts was that Methos claimed that at least five immortals actually weren't. According to Methos' records, they were ordinary humans infested by an alien parasite that gave them abnormally long lives, coupled with the ability to take over a new body when the old one wore out, or got too old.  
  
He had to admit that there was nothing in the Watcher files to disprove Methos' claims - and with few exceptions, the purported immortals numbered among the less pleasant, more dangerous of those the Watchers had been observing for centuries. It was really no more incredible than the existence of immortals in the first place, he supposed.  
  
It was pretty clear from reading the files that although he hadn't been absolutely sure, Methos had originally assumed that the military were aware of the threat, and were secretly trying to deal with it. The files suggested that Methos had been covertly helping them, planting clues to the whereabouts and nature of the pseudo-immortals on the Internet. He'd even published a physics paper that Joe didn't even pretend to understand, but which seemed to be aimed at helping their operations - and giving Methos an entry to their team.  
  
But the last few entries to the database painted a different picture. Since starting work at Cheyenne Mountain, Methos had begun to fear that his other scenario was closer to the truth. He had started to think that the covert ops team fighting the aliens had been subverted, the military infiltrated as a prelude to the invasion of Earth. And as ever with Methos, he had activated multi-layered plans to counter the menace he perceived.   
  
Joe remembered with a start that Methos had actually asked him to look into a Dr Daniel Jackson's background. He wondered what the connection was. Maybe if he could find something, it would give him an excuse to call Methos, and see if he could find out more about what was going on.   
  
He checked Methos' database first. The man did feature as a proponent of some - he hesitated, now, to call it loony - theory that aliens had built the pyramids, but it was just a passing reference. Joe opened the Internet browser, and did a google.  
  
The first few hits were clearly not his guy, unless he'd switched his academic fields from archeologist to computer scientist or chemist. He tried narrowing the search by adding in archeology as a key word, and bingo - the pyramid articles appeared. He scanned down the results, and decided to try the alien conspiracy website that came up fourth in the list.   
  
As the site opened, Joe sat back in his chair, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. You had to just love the Internet. It seemed that Dr Jackson had a fan. Admittedly, a slightly twisted one.  
  
The website gave a complete bio of one Dr Daniel Jackson. It seemed archeology was the family profession, as both his father and grandfather were also listed as archeologists. Daniel himself had Ph.Ds in archeology from the University of Chicago, anthropology from UCLA, and linguistics from Paris.   
  
Unlike a certain laggard Immortal, Daniel had actually completed his degrees quickly, and returned to Columbia to teach. After only a short time though, his publication record abruptly ceased, as did his employment record. The next entry was a death notice, issued in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It gave a whole new meaning to the 'publish or perish' imperative of academia.  
  
Except it seemed that Daniel hadn't been dead. He was now, at least according to the website, living in Colorado Springs, working for the military. It was at this point that the website went feral: Daniel's return was attributed to him being mixed up in a complicated alien conspiracy, centered on a shadowy military project based in Cheyenne Mountain.   
  
Joe looked again at the dates on his academic record. No wonder Methos had been interested - unless he was much mistaken, Daniel Jackson had done his linguistics work at the same time and place as one Adam Pierson. Joe wondered if Methos' cover had been blown.  
  
Joe emailed off a request for a proper search on the guy to Watcher HQ, then decided to call Methos to let him know what he had found out so far. When he dialed the cell though, all he got was the message bank. Joe started talking into the phone, quickly summarizing what he had found so far. He hoped Methos would get the message, and find it useful. He then settled back down to read more of Methos' database. Before he glanced down at the keyboard once more, he noticed that the sky outside was finally starting to lighten.   
  
***************  
  
Jack stared down at the subject through the glass of the observation room. He looked too normal to cause so much trouble. The momentary defiance after the corridor fight had disappeared. 'Adams' now looked supremely unconcerned, almost relaxed, despite the restraints on his wrists and ankles, and the half dozen or so heavily armed SFs surrounding him.   
  
"There's no sign of a Goa'uld, Sir," Janet reported to him, also watching the scene below them. "We eventually got the MRI to work on him, and it shows human physiology, no parasites included. No nanobytes either. I've run every test I can think of, plus a few Selmak suggested, and can't find any evidence that he's under alien influence."  
  
"What about his wounds, how serious are they?" Jack asked.  
  
"He doesn't have any," she replied. "Not even a scratch. And no after effects of the zat either."  
  
Jack turned back from the window to look at her directly. "But I zatted him twice, and shot him in the shoulder, " he said. "I saw the blood."   
  
Janet waved in the direction of the isolation room below. "Well there's a bit of dried blood there - but no sign of a wound. Are you absolutely sure, Sir?" She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her head tiredly.  
  
"Totally," he replied. "I was at point blank range."   
  
Jack waited for Janet to proffer an explanation as to how Adams could have survived untouched. The silence between them stretched on. Clearly uncomfortable, she turned back to stare at Adams in the room below. She jumped slightly when he reached over to touch her shoulder.  
  
"So, Janet, any explanations spring to mind? Could he be the product of Asgard experiments? Or another of Nirrti's attempts to create the perfect host?"  
  
He saw her shudder. They all had their own nightmares. Jack's might be Loki's mad-scientist routine as he attempted to solve the Asgard's reproduction problems. But Janet's was Nirrti, the Goa'uld who had destroyed her adopted daughter's people, and nearly killed Cassandra twice with her genetically implanted time-bombs.  
  
"It'll be a few more hours before I received the results of his DNA test, but there are a few anomalies in his other test results. Nothing, mind you, that would explain disappearing wounds and miraculous recoveries."  
  
She turned back to lean against the glass separating them from the isolation room they were housing him in. He waited as she reapplied her professional mask.  
  
"What sort of anomalies?" he inquired.  
  
"We had a lot of trouble getting the MRI to work on him. You'd need to quiz Selmak to get the details, Sir, but as far as I could follow, he's giving off quite high energy readings. Not radiation or anything, just a super-active aura."  
  
"So, like glowing red instead of green or yellow? I didn't realize auras were a medically accepted diagnostic device, Doctor, " Jack said dryly.  
  
Dr Fraiser stood up straighter. "Well no, Sir, but we do all emit a mild electro-magnetic charge. Seems his is a bit stronger than normal. And that's not his only oddity," she said.   
  
He nodded at her to continue.  
  
"His brain scan shows that he's using much more of his brain than is normal. In fact, it's a lot like yours looked after you downloaded the Ancients' database."   
  
Jack could see that she was watching him carefully for a reaction. "Except that he hasn't lost the ability to communicate or anything, " Jack replied evenly. "Although I suppose that could account for his scientific knowledge. But how could he have gotten access to one of the Ancients' databases?"  
  
Jack suppressed a shudder as he remembered his knowledge of English being slowly stripped away, his brain being overwritten by alien thoughts. When the Ancients' device had grabbed his head, and dumped the contents of their database into his brain, he had slowly gone mad under its influence. First he had lost the ability to speak anything but the Latin-hybrid that was the tongue of the Ancients, the mysterious missing fifth race of the old alliance against the Goa'uld. But he had also developed a knowledge of the Gate-creators' technologies, sufficient to save a team trapped on a world with a non-functioning Dial-Home-Device.   
  
Finally, faced with no other way to save himself, he had built a booster to provide sufficient power to allow the gate to transport him clear across to another galaxy entirely, to the home-world of the Asgard. The Asgard had been able to cure, then return him, to the SGC. It had been the real start of their alliance with the little gray aliens.  
  
"I said a lot like, Sir, but not identical, " Janet replied. "The locations of his brain that are more active aren't the same as your ones."  
  
"But he is human?" Jack asked, still facing her.  
  
"Yes, as far as I can tell, " Janet replied. "Until the DNA test comes back I can't be absolutely certain. Still, he fits the range of variation we have found on other planets."   
  
Jack turned back to look at the scene below him. "So you're saying human, but not from Earth?" Jack probed.  
  
"I really can't say, Sir. In most ways he tests out absolutely Earth normal."  
  
Jack looked more intensely at the puzzle in front of him. The medical tests just seemed to be deepening the mystery of Adams' background, rather than providing any clues.  
  
  
  
"So, any enlightenment from Adams himself?" Jack queried.  
  
"No, Sir. He has co-operated, but he hasn't opened his mouth since he's been here. Just does as he's told and looks mournfully at you. It's spooking the nurses. Well that and that gaggle of SFs that you've insisted stay with him." She waved at the scene below them.  
  
"Well then, I guess we had better get the SFs out of your way, and try more direct tactics. If you've finished for the moment Doctor, I'll have him escorted to a holding cell."  
  
**********  
  
Please, do review - I love hearing your suggestions, comments and critiques. Or even just if you are still enjoying. 


	18. Coming Back

Author's notes: Thanks you so much for all your wonderful reviews, I really appreciate them! Special thanks to Bronny - just loved your little blessing: 'May chocolate find you at the low times of day and smiles greet thee on the streets'!!!   
  
The battle between Jack and Adam(s) is certainly coming, read on. And a few possible plot twists, possible visitors and more yet...  
  
Thanks to the anonymous reviewer who queried the word google (gaggle?) in chapter 17, but on this occasion it was deliberate. My local newspaper's IT section claims that to google is a term in common use, and means to undertake an Internet search (using the search end Google). Really and truly. The Sydney Morning Herald said so!!  
  
I thought I'd better get in early on this week's word - a palimpsest is a parchment or painting which has been written on twice or more, with the earlier writing erased to make room the later versions. Some manuscripts of enormous historical value have been recovered by removing the palimpsests...  
  
Thanks once again to Village Mystic and Jezowen for the beta. Thanks also to Celeste for a timely intervention.  
  
Page breaks hopefully restored, 7.8.04  


* * *

CHAPTER 18 COMING BACK  
  
  
Jack closed the file in front of him carefully, and glanced up again at the screen showing the cell. He gritted his teeth. Adams lay sprawled, face expressionless, on the bunk, arms stretched out behind his head. He looked very relaxed. So much for letting him stew for a while.   
  
All the same, there was little point going in completely cold. He needed to consider his tactics. Jack looked around at the piles of goodies spread out on the floor around him, and tried to decide where to go next on his search for enlightenment. Adams' file had been picture perfect, and totally useless. And he was pretty sure from just glancing at the piles in front of him that there wasn't much there either.   
  
Jack took another sip of his coffee, and debated whether to call General Hammond for a progress report. He decided against it - after all, the General was likely to make the progress report a two-way thing, and he had nothing yet to offer. Besides, he was sure the General would tell him the moment he had anything useful.   
  
Daniel had already provided as many details as he could remember on the Adam Pierson identity. It would be a while, though, before they got anything back from Paris. And while Jack was hoping for more from the team searching Adams' apartment, if the sparseness of this little collection was anything to go by, his wishes might well go unfulfilled.   
  
Of course, the team had first to actually get there - rounding up a search team with the necessary clearances at this hour of the morning, at a time when most of the SGC were in lock-down inside the Mountain was likely to be something of a challenge.   
  
Jack looked back up again. He frowned as he watched Adams glance at his wrist-watch. He automatically looked at his own, and noted the time: 0630.   
  
He reached for his radio, to get an update. "Jacob, has Sam found anything at all in the computer? Over."   
  
The hiss of interference on the radio echoed in the near-empty room. "Nothing on the main computer, Jack. She's headed up to her lab now. Anything specific we should be looking for? Over."  
  
Jack admired the enthusiasm in Jacob's voice - he had to admit that the Tok'ra symbiote certainly gave Jacob endurance well beyond human norms. His own voice, he knew, sounded as tired as he felt.  
  
"Nope, just a hunch. He's still refusing to talk, and I have a bad feeling about it. You'd better get someone to go over everywhere Adams has been again just in case.   


* * *

  
  
Sam tried to ignore the SF that her father had insisted accompany her until the base was declared secure, and sat down at her desk with a sigh of relief. It was like a robbery, she supposed. She felt as if Adams had violated her inner sanctum, invaded her privacy, even though she herself had invited him into the lab originally. Not to mention the risk that he had booby-trapped the computers in the lab.  
  
Sam forced herself to look around the room. It all looked okay, at least at first glance, provided she ignored the mess in the corner. Her reactor still sat in its place on the lab bench-top, and a quick glance at the shelves showed nothing obviously missing.   
  
The corner showed the most impact: a broken chair with bits of duct tape strewn about gave mute testimony to the reaction of the SF Adams had taken out. She quickly averted her gaze, and decided to start with the things where his touch was less obvious.   
  
Her PC was an obvious priority, given that Adams had almost certainly triggered the computer virus from here. Warily, she turned it on. Somewhat to her surprise, the log-in screen appeared, just as normal, and the computer actually did work.   
  
She waited for a few moments in case she had triggered some built-in trap. Nothing happened, though, so she quickly set about removing all traces of the infamous screensaver, and checked the hard drive. It was clear.   
  
Sam tried to get up, but found herself sagging back in the chair instead, exhausted. Somewhere between the drama in the control room, and the system checks she had run, the adrenaline-burst had run out. She sat, staring at the screen, sucking in the normality of it all, and trying to forget how close they had all come to being destroyed.  
  
"Is everything in order, Major Carter? " the SF said politely, causing Sam to jump. "Sorry, Major, I didn't mean to startle you, " he quickly added apologetically.  
  
"That's okay, Mason, " she replied. "Not a problem. In any case, so far, so good. But it'll take me a while to be sure. Why don't you go and check the armory and the rest of this floor while I'm working?"  
  
"But my orders were to stay with you, Ma'am, " he said.  
  
"I'll be fine, " she said. "And Colonel O'Neill did specify that he wanted a recheck done of everywhere Adams had been." He still didn't move. "Jump to it, Airman. NOW."   
  
"Yes, Ma'am, " Sgt Mason replied unhappily.   
  
As Mason left the room, Sam managed to haul herself up. She walked over to the super-computer terminal tensely, and prepared to go through the same process of checks. But when she quickly but thoroughly screened the computer for hidden traps, once again she found absolutely nothing.  
  
Letting out a sigh of relief, Sam pulled the satellite data back up onto the screen, and started checking to see whether the observation data for the two satellites knocked out of orbit was still intact. It was, she quickly realized, although she would bet on it having been thoroughly subverted. A pattern caught her attention, and she started trying to unlock it.   
  
It wasn't long before she became oblivious to her surroundings, engrossed in the intriguing puzzle in front of her, all thoughts of the need to complete the search of the lab completely forgotten.   
  
Next to her on the bench-top, though, the naquadah reactor turned bomb continued its count-down.  


* * *

  
  
Jack was just about to start on the next pile of material when Sgt Lucan knocked, then entered the room.   
  
"The contents of Lt Adams' locker from Space Control, Sir," Sgt Lucan said, waving a box in his hands.  
  
"Ah, thank you Sergeant," Jack replied eagerly. "If you'd just put it down there." He pointed to an empty space on the floor. He watched as Lucan set it down, then reached over and up-ended the box to add its contents to the accumulating piles around him.  
  
"Uh, stay, Sergeant, would you. I might need you to follow up on something for me."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Lucan replied, talking up a parade rest position near the door.  
  
Jack knelt down to take a look at the contents of Adams' locker, his knees creaking as he moved. He ignored them.   
  
The wallet, he found, was completely devoid of personality - little more than a palimpsest of a person. It contained some cash, a driving license, military ID and a credit card, all in the name of Michael Adams. There had to be something more to the man, Jack thought, no-one, not even someone straight out of school, had that little clutter in their lives.  
  
The other items looked equally enigmatic: a cell phone and a rock. Well, more accurately, a crystal. In fact, it looked suspiciously like an Asgard control crystal. Yet Jack was fairly certain it didn't match any of those normally stored on the base. It was an odd talisman to have. Was it Adams' version of a voodoo doll, a focus for thoughts of revenge or retribution?  
  
"Sergeant, take the cell up somewhere where there's reception would you. Check out his last calls, his phone list, messages - anything that might give us a few more clues about the guy. And you'd better drop off the rock to Major Carter's lab for testing on your way," he said, handing over the last two items in the pile. "Oh, and better give her back the piece of equipment he stole from her lab at the same time, " he added, pointing to the Asgard device on the table.  
  
As the Sergeant left the room, Jack moved to the next pile on the floor, and fanned out the files Adams had grabbed from the archives. They were equally puzzling. Some were mission files, others containing general background on the program, and lists of key contacts in DC. It was almost enough to rule out the NID at least - they already had all of this stuff.  
  
Finally, Jack turned to the last pile - printouts of the responses to the emails he had fired off almost a day ago, courtesy of the General's office assistant. He picked them up, and sat back up at the desk, his legs on the table. He put them down again, and straightened up. Finally, something a bit more concrete.   
  
Adams, it was clear, had never darkened the doors of MIT, at least under that name. His journal article, though, was real: the editor had responses that seemed as if they were from all three of the authors to comments from the journal's referees. Email made setting up fake identities so much easier, Jack reflected. Just why Adams had published the paper in the first place, though, was still a mystery.  
  
Jack mentally ticked off what they knew about Adams. Firstly, he was older than he looked. Daniel had first known him almost twenty years ago as a less than motivated graduate student in linguistics. So whoever he was working for, presumably they had been around for a while.   
  
Secondly, the most likely explanation for his apparent youth was that he wasn't an Earth human. His super-fast healing ability, his targeting of the SGC, the crystal, and superior technical knowledge; all this suggested alien origins. All the same, as yet they had absolutely nothing that would identify who - or what - Adams really was.  
  
Thirdly, he was extremely bright. Daniel had apparently consulted him from time to time on translation problems, and there could be no doubt about his computer and physics skills.  
  
The paper really puzzled Jack. If he was working to destroy Earth, why help them by hinting at how to detect the enemy? Had he been trying to help them, but then thought better of it? Or had it just been a way of gaining entry to the SGC in order to destroy it? If so, it was a pretty risky tactic.  
  
Jack decided to try and test his thinking. Adams had come here playing a military officer; perhaps he could be induced to continue the role a little longer? He levered himself out of the chair, and marched down the corridor towards the cell.

* * *

  
  
Methos lay in his favorite posture, sprawled bonelessly, deep in thought. He might be confined in a holding-cell, but there was no reason to be uncomfortable. He ignored the pounding sound of boots in the corridor moving closer to him, and replayed once again the Colonel's reaction to his triggering the Asgard communication device, trying to read his expression.  
  
Could the Asgard still be around, he wondered? Had the Colonel been worried at the prospect that they would drop by?   
  
Colonel O'Neill hadn't really looked that worried, he thought. All the same, the man had reacted. He had been.....he had been what, he thought to himself. Disturbed? Annoyed? Amused?  
  
All the evidence pointed to this little nest of snakes being responsible for destroying an entire Asgard battleship. If they could do that three years ago, then his emergency signal was not going to bring Thor roaring to his rescue now. All the same, it was hard not to hope.  
  
He thought with warmth about the little alien. Thor and the Asgard had freed him from his symbiote, Death. He just hoped that he would be able to repay the favor. At the very least, he could take revenge for the destruction of the Asgard ship, even if he hadn't been able to do anything for that ship's crew.  
  
The boot-steps came closer, and someone entered the room in which he was housed. Well, perhaps housed was the wrong word - stuck in a cage in the middle of a room, with guards sitting in each corner didn't exactly suggest home and hearth, Methos thought, acerbically.  
  
As the visitor entered the room and requested the guards to leave, he resisted the urge to wave at the camera trained on him. Did they really think he would believe this was just a little 'you and me all alone' chat?   
  
Stop it, he told himself. Focus on how to play the visitor. So far, he'd been subjected to every medical test they could think of - and a few more, courtesy of General Goa'uld-Carter - but no one had seriously tried to interrogate him. He expected that was about to change.  
  
"Lieutenant Adams, you should stand to attention in the presence of a senior officer, " Colonel O'Neill's voice said sharply.   
  
Interesting tactic, Methos thought. And one he could use to his advantage as well. He glanced down at his watch. He just needed to stall them for a little while longer. Should he play innocent-led-astray?  
  
He cursed again the logic that had made him set the naquadah device on such a long count-down. 'Seemed like a good idea at the time' really just didn't cut it.   
  
True, he had wanted enough time to examine the files, collect whatever data he could about the mystery object in orbit, then try and con his way past the guards. He'd needed plenty of time to be safe. Yup, that was it. His self-preservation instincts had kicked in, stopping him from wanting to be blown up. Except that now, the waiting just prolonged the agony. The longer he lay, the smaller the pieces he could imagine himself being reduced to...STOP, he told himself. Deal with the Colonel.  
  
"Sorry, SIR," he said, pointedly not moving. "But I'm thinking we're long past the stage of worrying about a few breaches of Air Force protocol."   
  
"You could be right about that son," Jack replied. "But why don't we just pretend for a moment that everything is normal. ATTEN-SHUN," he barked.   
  
He went with it, leapt off the bed and snapped to attention. He could guess what was coming next.  
  
"Look son," the Colonel said. "You're in a lot of trouble at the moment. You're facing possible treason charges. That could mean the death penalty. But if you tell us who you are working for, we might be able to help you."   
  
Methos kept his face rigidly controlled. They would have to do a lot better than this if they wanted him to talk.   
  
"Look, Adams," O'Neill said. "If you've been forced to do this against your will, we can protect you. You have some things going in your favor - our systems only went down temporarily, you haven't killed anyone, and none of the injuries are serious. Just tell us about your mission, and we'll see what we can do."  
  
Methos quickly suppressed the flicker of contempt that he was sure had crossed his eyes. It was only a matter of time after all.  
  
He wished he could move around to see the Colonel's face. Unfortunately, he was standing just out of eyeshot.  
  
"Look, Lieutenant, you've got nothing to lose at this point, you've already failed in your mission. Why not tell me why you felt the need to put the SGC out of action?"  
  
Methos couldn't help the tightening he felt around his eyes as he struggled to maintain his façade. Weren't they going to at least offer him the chance to work for whatever God it was they served?   
  
"Sir, I have nothing to say at this time," he replied, continuing to look straight ahead.  
  
The Colonel finally moved into his line of sight.  
  
"I just want to understand why you did it, Adams. Who are you really - what are you? And who are you working for?"  
  
Methos wondered for a moment if he should turn the tables, demand to know who their God was? Still, there was plenty of time left yet, he figured, for the game to play out. He maintained a stony silence.   
  
"Look we know you aren't an Earth human," O'Neill said. "If you're just looking for a way to get back to your home, we might be able to help you."  
  
Right, he thought, like I should believe that. All the same, it was interesting that they had made the offer. At least they obviously didn't know anything about immortals, even after all those tests. He let a slight smile quirk at his lips, but said nothing, waiting to see what the Colonel would come up with next.  
  
"Look, Adams, we've got some mysterious object up in Earth's orbit, biffing up our satellites and destroying our defenses. Your friends, are they? Can't you at least tell me who it is? You published that physics paper after all - why stop helping us now?"  
  
Methos stared straight-ahead, debating how - and whether - to respond. But there was nothing to be gained from talking, he realized. They hadn't even offered him any real information. He broke his parade rest stance, and went back to lie once more on the bunk. After a few more minutes, the Colonel left the room.   
  
One game to me, he thought, and resumed his gloomy thoughts on the statistical probability of being pulverized into pieces so small that even immortal healing powers wouldn't save him.

* * *

  
  
"Yes," Jack snapped in reaction to the knock at the door.   
  
He was still trying to sort through Adams' reactions - or lack of them - to round one of the interrogation. It was going to take time to break him down. And time was something they were short of. Time for good cop, bad cop, he thought?  
  
Although, given the interrogator he had in mind, would it be more of a case of good cop, smother-in-kindness-and-understanding cop? He grinned to himself at the idea of Daniel trying to do a tough interrogator act. He turned around to see who it was that wanted to enter the security station.  
  
"Sir," Lt Zeala said, poking her head around the door. "I have a message from Sgt Lucan. He found a message on Lt Adams' cell phone - seems to have been the results of a background check he requested on Dr Jackson. From the wording, he thinks the message was from someone staying with the Lieutenant."  
  
"Shit," Jack said, "We'd better alert the search team, we need to capture whoever it is straightaway. I'll get onto the General. Lt, ask the Sergeant to get the transcript of the message to him in the Combined Command Center straightaway would you, and then get one down here?"  
  
"Yes, Sir, consider it done, " Zeala replied, hurrying out the door.  
  
Jack picked up his radio and started talking. "Patch me through to General Hammond immediately, over."  
  
"Hammond, " he heard a few seconds later.   
  
"Sir, Sgt Lucan just reported in on Adams' cellphone, " Jack said. "Seems as Adams phone had a message on it. If it's not too late, tell your team that there may be someone in Adams' apartment. Over."  
  
"Acknowledged, Jack, hold please, " the General said. Jack heard voices murmuring in the background. Eventually, the General's voice came through the radio again. "Good timing, Jack, the team is still en route. Get the Sergeant to bring me a copy of the phone message asap, Jack. Over"  
  
"On its way, sir. Over," Jack replied.  
  
"Any luck interrogating Adams yet, by the way? Over," the General added.   
  
Jack glanced up again at the screen showing the cell containing the man calling himself Lieutenant Michael Adams. The Lieutenant had returned to slumping on the bed, unmoving.   
  
"No, Sir, nothing much yet. Since he obviously identified Daniel I think we can take the Pierson identity as confirmed. I'm going to let Daniel do a round with him while I head over to help Sam with the satellite data. Over."  
  
"Okay, Jack, Keep me posted. Over and out."  
  
Jack sensed rather than saw Daniel start involuntarily with surprise when his name was mentioned. Daniel had obviously thought he was being stealthy as he had entered the room. "So Daniel," he said, without turning around, "feel like having a shot at talking to your old 'ami.'"  
  
"You want ME to talk to him?" Daniel asked, recovering quickly. He looked quizzically at Jack, as if suspecting a trick.  
  
Jack turned around to look at him, and hastily sought to reassure his team-mate. "Well, Dr Fraiser seems to think he may not actually be an Earth human," he said, "but he wouldn't talk to her. And I certainly didn't have any luck."  
  
He grinned at Daniel. "I've tried treating him as a junior officer in trouble. No go. Maybe you'll have more luck if you try using that former identity of his, Pierpoint, Pear, what ever."  
  
"Why do you do that, Jack, pretend to be dumb?" Daniel demanded, visibly annoyed. "You know full well that it's Pierson. You only asked me for all the details on him half an hour ago, and I heard you use his name to the General just a few minutes ago."  
  
Jack stared down at his feet, and cursed. He really was gong to have to work this through with his team. Daniel for one, was clearly not going to let him go back to playing the dumb-old Colonel. But he didn't have time to deal with it now.  
  
He looked up and gave Daniel his best contrite grin. "Sorry, Daniel, it's automatic. But we really do need you to try - he might be able to tell us something about whoever it is up their playing catch with our satellites, and for the moment, you are our expert on him."   
  
Daniel looked back at him, clearly unmoved.   
  
"So WHY is it automatic, Jack. Explain it to me."  
  
"Not now, Daniel. We're running a little short on time," he replied impatiently. Seeing the belligerent look on Daniel's face, he changed tack. "Later Daniel, we'll talk. I promise."  
  
Jack waited while Daniel thought it over.  
  
"Alright," he said, eventually. "But I'm taking you at your word on this."  
  
Jack watched as the stubborn look faded from Daniel's face, and Daniel glanced up at the camera feed from the cell.  
  
"So, Daniel," Jack seized the moment. "I was thinking you could do your 'we're just peaceful explorers' routine and use what you know about him to see if you can get anything before I have to give in, and let the Tok'ra use their mind reading machine on him."   
  
"Well it wouldn't actually be the peaceful explorer speech, seeing as how we are on Earth, and as far as we know he has been too for the last twenty or so years. But I'm willing to have a go," Daniel replied. "How much can I tell him?"  
  
"As much as you think you need to. Hell, he's been wandering around sabotaging the base, reading our files. I'm thinking he pretty much already knows what's going on. Besides, he's up for treason. I don't think he'll be going anywhere he can tell all about us anytime soon," Jack said grimly.  
  
Daniel stood up and started heading out the door. Jack moved after him, grasping his shoulder before he could escape.   
  
"You might want to take a look at what we've already collected on him before you go in." He picked up the file from the table and handed it over. "This is his official file, complete with background checks, plus a few extras from my own checking. And his things." He gestured towards the desk. "I'm just going to go down and give Carter a hand. Let the guard know when you're ready to go in. And be careful. This guy's good."  
  
"OK, Jack, " Daniel replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot you know. I'll let you know as soon as I get anything out of him."  


* * *

  
  
When his cell phone started ringing, Joe thought about ignoring the annoying buzz, but then realized it might be Methos, so he levered himself up, and went to pick it up.  
  
He glanced down at the time on the phone's display. He'd missed a call, he saw - must have come while he was in the shower. He glanced at the time. It was now well past the end of Methos' normal shift. Joe shivered. If Methos was right about what lurked in Cheyenne Mountain, then his failure to return from work was not a good sign.  
  
"Yes," he snapped into the cell, the habits of a lifetime undercover as a Watcher of immortals keeping him from identifying himself too readily.  
  
He was disappointed when the voice wasn't Methos'. His caution, though, was apparently warranted, as the voice at the other end also avoided names. "Look I know it's pretty early, but have you seen your local paper this morning yet?"  
  
"I've only just gotten up properly, " Joe replied grumpily, "What's the problem?"  
  
He moved over to the window. In the street below a car horn beeped. He glanced down, distracted at the unexpected movement in the quiet street.  
  
"It's your pet project," the voice replied. "Seems like you may have had some new additions to the clan in your area over the last twenty-four hours. We have six separate babies found in your area alone. And yours aren't the only ones. We need to confirm that they are, um, candidates though."  
  
"Six!" Joe said. He continued his surveillance of the street, and saw two vans enter the street. The looked like original clichéd covert ops vehicles. Roach or pest exterminators? Gas servicing? Alarm bells started ringing in his head, but he dismissed them as Methos-induced paranoia. He sat, tense, but continued to focus on the phone.   
  
"Sounds pretty unlikely," Joe said. "The last time we had more than one in the same place there was a fifty year gap between them! I'll look into it. May be a bit of a problem getting confirmation though. My friend is unavailable at the moment."  
  
"Not a permanent problem, I trust?" the voice at the other end said, in a tone devoid of emotion.   
  
"No, no, nothing like that," Joe responded. "Just a work crisis."   
  
The vans, he noted, had come to a halt outside the apartment building, but the drivers were still sitting in them. Nor had any of their side-doors opened.  
  
"Right, well, do what you can. You can get the details of the other possibles from the system. I'll leave you to it," the voice replied, and clicked off the line.  
  
A baby plague, Joe thought to himself, still watching the vans. Just what he needed to complicate his life. Still, as a problem, it paled into insignificance beside Methos' aliens.   
  
He thought about what to do next. He was now dressed and ready to face the day, but there was still no sign of Methos. Given what he now knew, this was not a good thing.  
  
A flash of movement in the street below cut into his thoughts. The doors to the vans were opening. Heavily armed, uniformed men complete with flak jackets started to climb out of the vans and head towards his building. Oops, he thought, looks like Methos has been caught. Time to get the hell out of Dodge.   
  
Joe moved as quickly as he could, anxious to get out before the searchers could snatch him. He pulled out Methos' laptop from its docking station in the computer set-up, grabbed his wallet, and headed for Methos' side door. He tried not to panic. He leaned on his walking stick, and tried to move faster, but knew it would be worse if he fell. It should take them a few minutes before they realized that there had been someone home. He hoped it would be long enough.

* * *

  
  
Please, please, do review - you give me so much inspiration, as well as the impetus for some perspiration!! 


	19. Games

**Author's Notes**: Firstly, a million apologies for my slowness in updating. I know the last chapter was a very bad place to leave you hanging, but a combination of factors just meant I couldn't get the next bit out any faster. Try dying computers; family visits, overseas travel, followed by jetlag; and then finding it hard to get restarted (I tried rereading from the beginning, but found myself rewriting chapter 1 instead of getting back to where I needed to focus!) to name but a few....  
  
Still, here it finally is – no promises about the end of suspense yet however!! Hope it's not a disappointment after all that time....In any case, you get an extra long chapter by way of compensation.  
  
Anyway, a special big thank you to the stream of reviews from people over the last week or so requesting that I update. Each one gave me another spur. So thank you Bug-eyed Monster, Tannim2, Moonbeam, Janreti, Banner, ge, Teri, Obaona, and various members of the crossgate list.  
  
Thanks also to those who reviewed the last chapter when it came out. I will attempt hence forward to fulfill your wishes for faster updates as best I can! Will try again for those internet cookies for a fast update kitkat!!  
  
Thanks to Shadowsdancing for the point about UNISA – it's actually the University I assigned his supervisors (at MIT) to, rather than one I planned for Methos to have attended. I actually thought it being a correspondence Uni it might be plausible that it was harder to track down the professors, but I will reconsider this!  
  
Minty – on Sam's character. I have to admit I'm not sure I've completely got her down pat, but I do think its plausible that she would try and stop Jack being in command if she thought he was unfit for duty. I see Sam as very smart, caring but finding it difficult to show it, and a bit oblivious of the world around her – not that great at reading other people (hence her string of awful boyfriends!). But most of all she is goal oriented – and if she thought someone would get in the way of achieving the goal, she could be fairly ruthless. I think she would see acting by getting Janet to check Jack out as her duty as his 2IC to protect the SGC, and perfectly within the rules. And let's face it – Jack has done the same thing to her or worse on at least a couple of occasions (think Orlin).  
  
Lastly, wanted to say how thrilled I was when I learnt on Friday that I'd been nominated for the SG awards in the new Gen author category (if you want to know more about the awards, or are just looking for some great fiction to read, take a look at the website: http:www.sg1-awards.com). So a big thank you to everyone who has supported this story as I've gone along. Most particularly, though, a big thank you to my betas, who have worked so hard to get me to improve the quality of this (despite my resistance) – Jezowen, Village Mystic and Teri, thank you so much. It's a real testament to their efforts above all that someone added me to the list!

* * *

**Chapter 19: GAMES  
**  
Not knowing where to go, Joe drove almost randomly, and found himself heading down the Interstate towards Denver. Not a good choice, he realized as soon as he became conscious of his location. If the searchers had been the military, they could easily have set up roadblocks by now. He needed to get off the road, under cover as soon as possible.  
  
Remember the drill, he told himself, you've only been retired a week, you stupid old man. But it was hard to think clearly when his heart was still thudding, heavy at the narrow escape.  
  
Taking the car had been a risk. But a man with only artificial legs had no chance of evading determined searchers on foot. It was his only choice, unless he wanted to take his chances with an 'I'm dear old totally ignorant, Dad' act. Methos might be adept at bluffing, but Joe was a watcher, not a player.  
  
All the same, he had to pay tribute to Methos' healthy instincts for self- preservation. After all, you couldn't call it paranoia if people really were out to get you.  
  
Thanks to Methos' security arrangements, getting out using the car had been a calculated risk – after all there could have been cordons and roadblocks already up – but one worth taking. He'd followed the route Methos had shown him the night before – down the elevator to the basement, through the not-very-well-marked tunnel to an adjacent building, and into the car park. Of course, the night before his heart hadn't been thumping quite as loudly.  
  
The car-park exited into a side-street two back from the building's main entrance. Luckily the searchers hadn't discovered it in time. Not that it would stop them backtracking him, he reminded himself.  
  
Joe ran through the drill in his head. One, turn off your cell phone – while on, it can be traced. Already done. Check. Two, get your car out of sight, preferably lose it with lots of others while undercover to beat the street cameras and satellites. Three, don't go anywhere you are known, they'll check out anything they can link you with. Four, don't use any traceable credit cards. And five, don't get caught.  
  
He saw a shopping center, and quickly turned off to head for the car-park. Fortunately it was fairly empty, so he headed for a dark corner obscured from the cameras, and got out of the car. First for some shopping, he thought, and headed into the mall. Ten minutes and a cash transaction later, he was back, proud owner of a new cell.  
  
Next for somewhere to go. He considered his options. There were no other Watchers based in Colorado Springs; no safe-houses. And with Methos still presumably at the base, he was reluctant to leave. Hotels and the like were out – they would all be searched. Besides, he needed a way to get to Methos.  
  
Quickly, he booted up the laptop, and looked up an address. He studied the map to work out how to get there. He was ready. Casually, he climbed out of the car again, picked up the screwdriver and swapped number plates, blessing the watcher emergency kit secreted in the trunk of his car.  
  
Seconds later, he was ready to pull out. He glanced at the gas gauge. It was showing half full. Good enough, he thought. So far, so good.

* * *

"Thank you, Jacob, I really appreciate your help," Jack said, as he absorbed Jacob/Selmak's report on the progress in restoring the SGC's operational status.  
  
He'd dropped into the Control Room on his way to Carter's lab to get an update on how things were going. He sighed. He really hated not being able to co-ordinate the recovery from the electrical black-out generated by Lieutenant Adams' computer virus himself. But finding out exactly why Adams had attempted to sabotage the SGC – and tracking down whatever it was in orbit that was playing catch with their satellites – was a higher priority.  
  
Besides, he was finding a certain perverse pleasure in watching the former two-star General struggle to get the SGC personnel treat him as just that – and not as an alien ally of somewhat dubious status. It was a delightfully subtle revenge for those snide put-downs the Tok'ra specialized in. Not to mention the unspoken but ever-present threat of what would happen if Sam was ever seriously hurt – mentally or physically - as a result of his actions or while under his command.  
  
Jack surveyed the Control Room once more, half expecting the lights to suddenly start flashing an alarm, but everything remained calm. Better touch base with General Hammond before I head out, he decided. He picked up the phone.  
  
"Good morning, Sir. Just a routine check-in," he said. "Any luck picking up our friend?" Jack inquired, on the off-chance that there had been a breakthrough they hadn't yet had time to inform him of.  
  
"No, Jack, I'm afraid he got away," the General replied in a disgruntled tone. "And took the hard-drive from the computer in the apartment with him – by the looks of it, he was using a detachable lap-top. But on the plus side, he may not be that hard to find – he's probably disabled. They found a wheelchair, and it looks like the place was set up for it."  
  
"Well that should certainly make him a bit easier to find. What about the rest of the place?"  
  
"Nothing specific yet that you can use, but the apartment itself seems to be a bit of a treasure-trove. Lieutenant Adams was evidently planning to be here for the long-haul."  
  
"What have they found, Sir?" Jack inquired.  
  
"Books on every imaginable subject, and in multiple languages, according to the search team. I'm rounding up a linguist to help them. A lot of fairly valuable looking art work. And more than a few stray weapons – swords, guns, and a lot more. They've only just gone in, but we seem to have struck pay-dirt."  
  
"Excellent, Sir. Daniel could certainly use some help. Adams is going to be hard to crack."  
  
"How about your situation, Colonel?" the General inquired.  
  
"Well, Carter's given an all-clear on the computers, and the security systems are all back online, but I've ordered another sweep of the base before we go back to full operational status. Now that we've got a starting point, Sam's working on setting up the parameters for closer surveillance on the spaceship or whatever it is up there and Space Command is going to call me as soon as they think they are ready to start continuous tracking, Sir."  
  
"Of course, Jack. The sooner we can keep a proper eye on that thing up there the better I'll feel. Any more details you can give me on the object?"  
  
"No, Sir. We know it's big, and we've got a location, but that's really about all we've got so far."  
  
"Right, well, keep me appraised of any developments."  
  
"We'll do our best to work it out, Sir," Jack replied. "By the way, Sir," he added. "What have you done with Colonel Edwards? I could do with some help if he's suitably contrite and prepared to follow orders."  
  
"I doubt that he is, Jack," Hammond replied. "Anyway, I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. A few hours to reflect on his sins won't do him any harm. Sorry, Jack, you'll just have to do the best you can."  
  
"Of course, Sir."

* * *

Joe pulled up in front of the brownstone apartment block and considered his options. He really needed to get his car out of sight. He drove around to the side entrance, and pushed the button to contact the security guard.  
  
"I'm here to visit Dr Jackson's house, "he said. "I'm a friend, and he asked me to take care of a few things for him."  
  
"Sure," said a disembodied voice. "Drive right on in. He called to say to expect someone to drop on by."  
  
This was turning out to be a lot easier than he had expected.

* * *

Daniel entered the room nervously, and stared at the bars of the cell that separated him from his friend. His former friend, he reminded himself.  
  
He wondered what had happened to turn the shy, naïve graduate student who had been one of his few friends into the enemy he now faced. Or had it all just been an act back then?  
  
It was hard to reconcile the images in his head. When they'd been students together in Paris, Adam had been one of the few people who could match Daniel for speed of learning, for making the intuitive leaps that solved longstanding linguistic puzzles. And Adam – unlike Daniel – hadn't been that anxious to complete his thesis quickly. Instead he had both practiced and preached the virtues of living the traditional student life - which he argued, consisted of hanging out at bars and bookshops, and drinking beer.  
  
Daniel's eyes swept around the room. Apart from the cell, with its bunk and toilet, it was stark and empty. The only furniture consisted of the straight-backed chairs placed strategically in the corners occupied by the guards. The utter silence - apart from the ever-present hiss of the air- conditioning - was a far-cry from the busy, warm Paris streets of his memory.  
  
Daniel had been a regular member of Adam's little Parisian group. They had spent hours debating everything under the sun. And playing silly linguistic games, contorting the voices into all the sounds human vocal chords could make. And had argued about silly things, like the origin of the pyramids, and how to solve the mystery of Linear B. Not so silly in retrospect of course.  
  
Through the monitor, in black and white, Adam had looked just as he had when they had studied together – thin and earnest, his aquiline nose poised as if to sniff out another good linguistic puzzle to solve. It was really only the hair that was different in the flesh, Daniel thought. Why on earth had he chosen to go red? Well, he guessed, it certainly drew the eyes away from his face.  
  
And that was the other thing. Where Adam Pierson's eyes had been soft, shy, or alight with humor, those of the man in the cell were not. They were hard eyes – old eyes.  
  
Daniel looked into the cell, trying to see if there was more he could understand from seeing him in person. But the body stretched out on the bed refused to morph into something less familiar.  
  
"So, Daniel, are you actually going to ask me some questions?" His voice was soft, almost gentle.  
  
Yet it was Adam's voice, not the deeper, mid-Atlantic drawl of Lieutenant Adams. Daniel almost jumped, jolted out of his musings. It really was Adam.  
  
"So was it all just an act back then?" Daniel demanded reflexively. "Were you truly a friend, or working for them even then?"  
  
He was met with a stony silence.  
  
"I thought you were willing to answer some questions?" he said. Adam appeared to ponder for a moment.  
  
"No Daniel, I simply asked if you were going to ask me something instead of just standing there. I didn't say I'd give you anything. Certainly not questions which you already know the answer to."  
  
"Do I?" Daniel shot back. He couldn't help it coming out sounding like a querulous old man. What did Adam mean, he knew the answer? Nothing seemed in the least bit clear, most definitely not Adam's behavior. He glared once again at Adam, but it had no effect.  
  
Daniel considered. Was he trying to suggest that it hadn't been an act? He wanted to believe – it would be so much easier than accepting the alternative.  
  
But it simply didn't stack up. For it was obvious now, in retrospect, that Adam had known much more than he'd let out back then. How much more and how, though? It was also obvious that Adam wasn't going to enlighten him willingly any time soon.  
  
Daniel knew from experience that if Adam didn't want to answer a question, no amount of persuasion - alcoholic or otherwise – would get him to budge. There was no reason to think that had changed. So he needed to try the indirect approach. He gave Adam his most imploring look.  
  
"So you're saying that if I try and interrogate you, you're not going to respond?" Daniel said. He craned over to see Adam's face.  
  
"Probably not, "came the response from the prone figure, sounding as if from a great distance.  
  
"Well, how about I just talk then?" Daniel replied. "Feel free to join in any time."

* * *

Sam sighed to herself as she worked. She felt tired and depressed. She had, after all, now been on duty for almost twenty four hours. Worse, she hadn't been able to make sense of the data Adams had subverted - until the Colonel had waltzed in and asked her a few, seemingly simple, questions. She'd almost fallen for it to, probably would have too, except for her new heightened awareness of his hidden abilities.  
  
So instead of her simply going back to work and solving it herself, having been given the vital nudge by the Colonel, she'd cornered him and made him help work it through. In a few short minutes they'd worked out what Adams had done, untangled the mess, and pinpointed the location of what they now assumed was an alien spaceship in orbit above them.  
  
She thought back over their missions, and the hours they had spent together in this lab. Now, knowing what to look for, she remembered all his odd but insightful questions, the ones that had so often pointed her to the solution. She remembered the many times he had played with the equipment despite her attempts to stop him, only to find the right configuration as if by serendipity as soon as he had left.  
  
How often had he solved her problem for her without her even realizing it? She felt like a fool for having been suckered by his apparent inability to remember the official planetary designations and his malapropisms.  
  
Sam tried to focus her mind back on the job. Well, even if he had helped her, it had still been her efforts that had delivered the product. She tried to comfort herself: it was just a case of genuine, perfectly appropriate scientific collaboration. Except of course that she'd never even realized it was happening, let alone acknowledged his contributions. She couldn't help feeling embarrassed.  
  
Sam forced herself to run down her mental checklist of things to do in an effort to cut off the train of thought. She realized she had better check up on Mason's progress. Reaching over, she clicked on the button on the radio. "Sgt Mason, this is Major Carter. Report please, Over."  
  
"Mason, reporting, Ma'am," he said. "I'm just heading for the armory now. I've checked the East side rooms, but I wanted to do a double-check in here. Security report that he spent more time than can reasonably be accounted for collecting up his stash, and it would be pretty easy to rig a bomb with the stuff here. Estimate another half hour to complete the inventory, Ma'am, then I'll resume the rest of the search . Over"  
  
"Very well, Sergeant, carry on. Let me know as soon as you've finished. Over and out."  
  
She quickly reported in to her father, and passed on the update, then turned back to her computer. She wanted to make some progress before the Colonel returned.

* * *

Methos propped his hands under his head so he could discretely watch his interrogator. Daniel, for his part, was in the process of pulling a chair, provided courtesy of one of the guards, up in front of the cell. He flopped down into it. Methos waited as Daniel started fiddling with his glasses.  
  
In lots of ways Daniel had changed beyond recognition, and for the better. He looked tanned, fit, and well muscled, although tired. Still, a far-cry from the shy, awkward student he had known so many years ago..  
  
But some things clearly hadn't changed, and Daniel fiddling with his glasses when he was nervous or wanted to think something through was one of them.  
  
Methos watched him work it through. Why was Daniel here, he wondered for the hundredth time. Was he being forced? Had he been brainwashed? Or had he just been subverted by the knowledge on offer, the chance to prove all of his theories?  
  
He really hadn't planned to play ball with his interrogators. But Daniel represented an opportunity he couldn't reject outright. He wanted to know – needed to know – what had happened to Daniel.  
  
He made so few mortal friends. And most of them – like Daniel – he was forced to abandon after only a few years when he moved on to his next identity. With each one, he suffered a little death before their all-too- soon real death. He relished, therefore, every scrap of information he was able to turn up on his former companions. The Internet age was proving a real boon to his desperate curiosity, his hunger to know how things turned out before yet another person lived only in his thoughts and memories, or in the pages of his journals.  
  
Besides, if he talked to Daniel now he might glean some intelligence on the activities of the SGC that could come in handy in the mopping up operation. Assuming of course that he survived the coming explosion.  
  
Yeah, okay, so that was all just rationalization. But at worst, listening to Daniel would provide him with a distraction - it was getting harder to maintain his equanimity as the clock ticked down. He stretched himself out, trying to look comfortable.  
  
"Right, well," Daniel said, "You remember of course my crazy theories about the age of the pyramids – you know, 10,000 years old, not 3,000? Built by aliens? Well, seems I was right. But of course you knew that, or why would you be here?"  
  
Methos carefully smoothed his face to blandness, and cocked an eyebrow back to Daniel. He pulled an arm out from under his head, and waved his hand to invite him to continue.  
  
"And it seems some other people thought my theories weren't so crazy at all – the military had the evidence all along, in the form of a stone circle discovered in Giza back in 1928. They've been trying to work out how to use it on and off since the 1940s."  
  
Poor Daniel, Methos thought to himself. All those lonely years being an academic outcast, when the proof of everything he believed had just been sitting there. They must have found it easy to recruit him. All the same, he was getting some useful intelligence from this. He decided to give Daniel something, and so pulled himself up to sit cross- legged on the bed. Well, a posture of involvement was the first stage of active listening wasn't it?  
  
Daniel swallowed as he met Methos' eyes, but continued. "Then a few years ago, Professor Langford's daughter, Catherine, recruited me for the project after I'd been tossed out of Columbia. I figured it out and we made it work. It was a gateway, capable of taking us to other planets."  
  
So the military had managed to get the Chapp'ai to work, courtesy of Danny boy. "Except of course that there was a catch," Daniel continued. He sat up straighter in the chair.  
  
Oh, yes, there was a catch alright, Methos affirmed to himself. A snaky, insidious one. He found himself nodding at Daniel. He couldn't, though, stop the memories of the Goa'uld from welling up within him.  
  
It must have been a real shock for the military to find that all those 50s sci-fi horror films were right - the galaxy was not a safe place to be. No benign United Federation of Planets had been waiting for them; no carefully reserved Vulcans waiting to guide them in the ways of peace.  
  
"Seems some evil aliens called the Goa'uld rule much of our galaxy. They are parasites, using humans as both hosts and slaves. Earth had been a prime base for one of the most powerful of them, named Ra. But for some reason or other - we're not sure exactly what happened - they abandoned it around 8,000 years ago."  
  
Methos watched, controlling his surprise as Daniel stood up abruptly, and started pacing up and down the narrow corridor in front of the cell. This wasn't exactly the language he would have expected from a Goa'uld stooge to use to describe the rebellion against Ra. Nor would he expect this level of agitation from someone under the influence of Nish'ta or some other drug.  
  
After a moment, Daniel sat down again and went on. "Unfortunately when we reactivated the Gate, they found us again. On our first trip, we went to the planet Abydos, and managed to destroy Ra. But then Apophis came to visit and it just escalated from there."  
  
So Apophis had moved in and taken over from Ra. The question of course, was just who this 'we' consisted of – which Goa'uld had used them to take out Ra? Methos found himself leaning closer to the bars. Had the mystery God in turn been destroyed by Apophis, or was it Apophis he was now dealing with? Either way, it was clear that humanity's quest for knowledge had caused it to dig its own grave.  
  
Ah, curiosity, he thought. The undoing of us all. It made sense now. He felt his anger at the sheer pointlessness of it all start to boil up. Could he have stopped it earlier if he had only told Daniel the truth, he wondered? It was a bitter thought.

* * *

Jack watched the screen wearily, and grimaced as his knees protested the cramped posture he had had to adopt to see the screen perched high above his head. Daniel hadn't exactly gotten Adams talking, but Adams did looked engaged, even a little agitated. It was progress of a kind, he supposed. And Daniel was really getting into the role he had assigned him to. One team member back on board, two to go.  
  
He sighed. His latest visit to Carter just seemed to have reinforced the tensions in their relationship. Well, she would just have to get over it, he thought, he really couldn't deal with it now, so he returned to watching Daniel attempting to romance the stone.  
  
"Anyway, to cut a long story short, the military set up this base and formed teams to fight Apophis and the System Lords," Daniel said, the tinny sound echoing through the loudspeakers at the security station. "We go out and explore the galaxy, looking for allies and technology to protect Earth from the Goa'uld. I'm on one of those teams, SG-1, along with Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter and Teal'c."  
  
Pay dirt! Jack thought as he watched Adams pull himself up abruptly from the bunk. Adams stalked over to look at Daniel through the bars.  
  
"Well that's a very nice little fairy tale," Adams spat. "Except that somehow or other you seem to have missed out the bit where Apophis became your God. Come on, Daniel, you were doing so well! Surely you can do better than that? I've seen Apophis' Jaffa, even his first Prime, walking your corridors. So cut the bullshit, Daniel, and tell me why you're bothering to tell me this rubbish."  
  
Well, well, well. At least they now had confirmation that Adams knew more than he was letting on. And if he knew about the Goa'uld, even recognized Apophis' symbol...they were clearly on the right track. The real question was just who Adams was working for, what the connection to the ship in orbit was.  
  
Jack watched as Adams glared another moment then abruptly turned his back to the camera. Jack reached and flicked to the other camera, but it was too late. Adams' face was completely controlled.  
  
Jack was torn. He really wanted to stay and watch this play out. But he also needed to check up on Space Control's progress. Well, if there was another Goa'uld in play, it wasn't all that likely that Daniel would persuade Adams to change sides or give them much more information any time soon. It sure looked like this little show had a way to play out before the denouement. He hurried out, heading towards the elevators.

* * *

Sam picked up the jangling phone distractedly, and used her free hand to finish typing the keystrokes to complete her program. She cursed to herself as the fingers not accustomed to reaching so far across the keyboard hit the wrong key; she backspaced, wedging the phone between her shoulder and her neck to free her other hand.  
  
"Major Carter, "Teal'c's bass boomed down the line.  
  
"Yes, Teal'c, what can I do for you?" she said automatically, as she finally was able to hit the return key and set the program to run. She reclaimed the phone with her hand and turned her attention to Teal'c's voice.  
  
"I am preparing to send you the data from my flight recorder. The technicians have found some interesting anomalies in the data which they are unable to interpret. I believe you may be better placed to assess this material. Is that acceptable?"  
  
Sam shifted the receiver in her ear, and watched as the screen in front of her spun through rows of code. Teal'c's material would provide a useful diversion while she waited for the results of her program.  
  
"Sure, Teal'c, by all means! I've pretty much gone as far as I can with the data I've got from NORAD so far, I'm just waiting for the programs to finish running. Anyway, maybe your stuff will help fill in another piece of the puzzle. Just send it to my computer over the secure link."  
  
She couldn't help glancing across at her PC – the computer that had almost led to the destruction of the SGC.  
  
"I am aware of the procedure, Major Carter," Teal'c replied. "I was not sure, however, that your computers had been secured as yet. Have you now completed your checks of the system?"  
  
She accepted his gentle rebuke. Teal'c had carefully learnt all of their procedures, and always had a logical reason for any failure to follow them.  
  
"Yes, the computers are all fine," she replied. "I've been working on the data the Colonel compiled from NORAD's tracking systems."  
  
She couldn't help grimacing as she mentioned Colonel O'Neill's name. There was no point complaining about his behavior to Teal'c, though. He would undoubtedly point out that the Colonel's skills and intelligence were obvious to anyone who had eyes to observe. In fact, he had made his views clear on a number of occasions now that she thought about it. She wondered how to let Teal'c know of her chagrin at her failure to listen to him more closely.  
  
"Very well, Major Carter," Teal'c said. "I will transmit the data immediately."  
  
Sam walked over to the other computer to check that the transmission was coming through. She unlocked the screen, and clicked into the icon for the link. The data unfolded on the screen in front of her.  
  
"I've got it Teal'c, it looks fine. I'll take a look at it and get back to you if I find anything." An idea occurred to her. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Sam asked. "You know you are welcome to use my house if you need a break from Patterson, since you can't come back to the SGC at the moment."  
  
"Thank you, Major Carter. In fact, Daniel Jackson has already made the same offer. I was considering visiting his abode shortly as I understand our 'shift' is about to be stood down. As his accommodation is closer to Patterson Air Force Base, I believe it will prove more convenient for my needs. Nonetheless, I thank you for your offer of hospitality."  
  
Sam wondered whether she should take his words at face value, or whether his reluctance to accept her invitation was an unspoken reproof for her earlier behavior. No, she was getting too paranoid, she decided. Teal'c hadn't even been on the base for most of the events of the last thirty six hours.  
  
"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do. Bye, Teal'c."

* * *

Methos glanced up as the camera in the corner whirred to catch his face, but his calm façade belied his inner turmoil. He turned back to face Daniel, but almost turned away again at Daniel's earnest, pleading expression.  
  
"Look, Adam," he said, "you've got it all wrong. We have no God, no System Lord. I joined the SGC because Apophis took my wife and brother-in- law and made them hosts."  
  
Methos couldn't help glaring back at him angrily.  
  
"Daniel, I'm not a babe in the woods here. I know what glowing eyes mean. And I saw your 'General Carter's' eyes glow. Not to mention the Jaffa I've seen wandering around the base. And Teal'c sounds AWFULLY like a Jaffa name to me. Nothing you've said explains what I've seen for myself on this base."  
  
He tried switching to Dutch. It was Daniel's native language after all – and modern languages were far less likely to be known by the Goa'uld than the ancient Earth ones. "Are you under surveillance, are you being forced to do this Daniel?" he asked intently.  
  
"No!, "Daniel exclaimed in the same language. "Why do you think that? Everything I've told you is true. Let me explain."  
  
"You don't need to explain, Daniel," Methos said angrily, but the soft sounds of the language seemed to help him regain his composure. "Just tell me if there is a way you can talk. The truth is you went out into the galaxy, happy to prove your theories right, and got caught. But it's not too late, I can help you," he pleaded.  
  
"You don't understand," Daniel replied, still in Dutch, "the Tok'ra and Jaffa are here to help us."  
  
Methos felt the anger finally run out, leaving him completely deflated. He reverted to English. "I know about the effects of Nish'ta and the other techniques the Goa'uld use. I suppose I can't really blame you," he said, staring at his feet.  
  
"I need to explain, Adam," Daniel replied sharply. "Since you have it totally wrong. But how about you tell me something. How do you know about the Goa'uld? And who are you working for? Who are you really?"  
  
Methos lifted his eyes up from the ground, and stared hard at Daniel. How could he get through to him? He swapped to Goa'uld, so there could be no mistake.  
  
"I'm not working for anyone, Daniel, " he replied. "It's obvious now that you went through the Chapp'ai, and brought back the enemy. You've infiltrated the military, managed to set up this base for your invasion. I saw the Asgard ship you managed to destroy crash into the Pacific Ocean." He dropped his eyes, and sat back down on the bunk. "I thought I was helping when I encouraged you with your theories. And I had so hoped I was in time," he said, more to himself than to Daniel. "Earth shouldn't have to go through that again."  
  
He watched as Daniel shook his head in apparent disbelief. Truth, delusion or good acting? He couldn't decide. He let the bitterness he felt seep into his voice.  
  
"And as for how I know all of this, well I WAS Goa'uld. Until the Asgard freed me. So now I'm just hoping that emergency signal I set off will bring Thor to the rescue before it's too late for Earth once more."

* * *

Sam looked to see Janet come into the room, carrying two cups of steaming coffee.  
  
"Knock, knock," Janet said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I should prescribe you a caffeine hit. How's it going?"  
  
Sam almost snatched the mug from Janet's hands, gratefully inhaling the steam.  
  
"Thanks, Janet, I really appreciate it. I'd just gotten the Colonel's data re-analyzed when Teal'c sent me the flight recorder data from his mission to try and make sense of. Which it isn't, at least so far."  
  
"Oh," said Janet. "Then maybe I should leave you to it. I was actually passing by to see if you could take a look at the readings I got on Lt Adams, but it sounds like you've got enough on your plate. Still, at least the computers are okay I take it?"  
  
"Yes, no problems there at least, "Sam replied. "Go ahead and show me your data, Janet, I'm not making any headway on any of the rest of the stuff I've got here. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I was actually about to call and see if Colonel O'Neill was free yet to come and help."  
  
"Still can't get used to Smart-Jack?" Janet queried. "Have to admit, he really has that dumb act down pat. But don't let it get you down. I mean, it's not as if he did all your work for you, is it? Besides, he has been at it a few more years than you. You know he used to head up Space Command in NORAD, don't you?"  
  
"You're kidding! How come you never told me that before, Janet?"  
  
"Well, it was in his medical file, but I just assumed it was a cover story for his covert ops assignments. I checked his open record though, now that we know. After Iraq, Jack went back, did his PhD in astronomy, took a few other assignments with NORAD; ended up back here."  
  
"So how come he had retired before Daniel managed to activate the Stargate the first time?" Sam queried. "I mean, I can understand that he wasn't up to active duty on a covert ops team after Charlie's death, but if he was really working as a scientist, couldn't they have just given him a research job?"  
  
Sam watched as Janet hesitated for a moment. "Well, reading between the lines of his file I'd say he had a serious falling out with some of his staff – and his commanding officer – and retired before they could court- marshal him."  
  
Sam rolled her eyes. "Well I can certainly believe that, "she replied. "I wonder what it was over? Anyway, Janet, I really had better get back to work. Do you want to show me your data?"  
  
"I've got it here, "Janet replied, handing over a data stick. "It's the energy readings from Adams I'm puzzled over. His tests mostly come up normal, except for this energy-field he gives out. It doesn't fit any of the parameters we've collected do far, so I wanted to see if you had any ideas."  
  
Sam plugged in the data, and brought it up on the screen. "Hmm," she said, "that's certainly unusual. Look at those odd fluctuations in the reading. There's almost a pattern to it. It actually reminds me of the stuff Teal'c just sent me. Hang on a second."  
  
She quickly split the screen, and put the two patterns up next to each other.  
  
"Wow, look at that, Janet. This is incredible. They are resonating at exactly the same frequency, and the wave pattern is in sync, except for those surges there."  
  
Sam felt Janet leaning over her shoulder, so she pointed to the spikes in the data. "And I'm betting that's when Teal'c's craft entered the object's space," she said.  
  
Sam clicked on a few keys in order to pull up the timer for the two datasets, then reran the data from the beginning. "Yes," she said triumphantly. "It is. So we do have a connection between the object and the lieutenant."  
  
Janet stared at the data for another moment, then moved around to look at Sam. "Are you sure its not just coincidence?" Janet queried.  
  
Sam shook her head before Janet had even finished talking. "No way. The odds of a coincidence would have to be something like a trillion to one. He has to come from that object. We have the proof that he's alien."  
  
"Then we'd better alert everyone straightaway," Janet replied. "You contact General Hammond, and I'll go tell the Colonel and Daniel. It might help Daniel's interrogation of Adams."  
  
"All right, Janet, agreed," she said to Janet's back as the doctor headed out the door. "And thanks for the coffee," she called.

* * *

Methos watched as disbelief then what looked suspiciously like awe flooded over Daniel's face at the revelation that he had been a Goa'uld. He wanted to believe it was a genuine reaction. But he wasn't sure that he could afford to.  
  
"You were Goa'uld!" Daniel parroted back at him, gulping. "Then we are on the same side!" he said, waving his hands in the air.  
  
"Maybe," Methos replied stiffly, "but you need to prove it."  
  
"Look, hopefully Thor will show up pretty soon and prove it to you," Daniel said excitedly.  
  
Methos looked at him hopefully. Daniel certainly sounded confident. His puppy dog eyes shone with apparent sincerity. But then, if the Asgard were truly their allies, why had O'Neill reacted so badly when he had set the signal off?  
  
"Unless they're in the middle of another crisis with the Replicators. We've been expecting him before now."  
  
"I see," Methos said, schooling his face to hide his disappointment. For a moment there he had almost been convinced. "So if the Asgard don't turn up, its not because you've managed to destroy them, its because they have some other enemy they are fighting. Very credible."  
  
"Look, Adam," Daniel said earnestly. "If you saw the Belisknor crash, maybe you saw the remains of metallic bug things? The Asgard have been fighting them for some time now – and they're losing. We've been trying to help – it seems our primitive approaches can sometimes work better against them than the Asgard's sophisticated approaches."  
  
"Daniel, all I saw was one of the most sophisticated spacecraft in the galaxy crash into the Earth's atmosphere. And the military busily salvaging whatever they could. Anyway, you still haven't explained away the Jaffa and Goa'uld I've seen on the base."  
  
"It started with Teal'c - he saved us from Apophis and has been working with us ever since to free his people. We have a large group of rebel Jaffa working with us and the Tok'ra at our off-world base," Daniel replied. "They're helping us."  
  
Yeah right, Methos thought to himself. He'd 'helped' a few people in his time too. They hadn't much appreciated the attention. He couldn't help probing Daniel's story though.  
  
"Just what is this 'against Ra' you keep talking about Daniel. I've never heard the expression before."  
  
"The Tok'ra are a group of symbiotes dedicated to fighting the System Lords and all they stand for. You've met General Carter/Selmak. They may be snakes, but they reject goa'uld ways – they only take voluntary hosts, and share the host's body equally."  
  
This was too much, Methos thought. How could Daniel look at him so earnestly and say something like that with a straight face? He looked like one of those late night tele-sales hosts, desperate to convince you that the latest piece of equipment would transform your abs, no effort required. "Time share Goa'uld!" he drawled. "I love it. Do keep going Daniel, I can't wait to hear more." He smothered a laugh.

* * *

"So we've finally got something concrete, I hear Carter?" Jack said, peering into Carter's lab.  
  
"Yes, Sir," Major Carter replied, "Although I'm not really sure how to interpret it. The unusual aura Lieutenant Adams is projecting has very similar characteristics to the force-field or whatever it is that surrounds our mystery object. Not the same strength or anything of course, but still, its too unusual to be a coincidence."  
  
"So what conclusion do you draw from this, Major?"  
  
"Well, Sir, Janet and I have actually been working on using electrical field detection as a security device for the Gate, since aliens typically have fields with different strengths to humans. We know that every living thing carries an electrical charge of some sort. The range of electrical fields our bodies generate tends to be pretty consistent, not withstanding the various claims about auras. But aliens tend to be different – Teal'c for example, simply doesn't fit the standard human parameters, nor did Jonas."  
  
"Get to the point, Major," Jack grated out impatiently. "I SO don't need this lecture right now."  
  
"Sorry, Sir. Of course not." Sam looked as if she had been kicked, and he cringed.  
  
"Sorry, Carter, I didn't mean to snap, but I have actually read your reports on this work. And understood them, even if I mightn't have let on." He grinned disarmingly at her. She regained some color in her face. "So the bottom line is?" he prompted.  
  
"Adams is from the same race that built the object, Sir. It seems the logical conclusion."  
  
"Right, good work. Stay on it then, Major" he said. "I'll go see what Adams has to say to this."

* * *

Methos sobered. Daniel's story was so over-the-top that it hardly seemed worth trying to sell to him – unless it really was true. Rebel Jaffa he could believe in – indeed, it was extraordinary that the Goa'uld had managed to keep the Jaffa in line as long as they had, even with their genetically programmed dependence on the larval Goa'uld, the prim'ta, to provide their immune systems.  
  
The so-called Tok'ra though? He would have thought that the genetic memory that drove the Goa'uld would prevent them from turning on each other, or changing fundamentally. But then nature had to provide ways for species to evolve if they were to survive.  
  
He tried to apply Holmesian logic – if you eliminate the impossible then whatever explanation was left, no matter how unlikely must be true. The problem was, he had no basis yet on which to eliminate even the obvious explanation that a Goa'uld had simply taken over and was using them.  
  
All the same, why go to the bother of concocting such an amazing story? And if what Daniel was speaking the truth – and it did all fit, he had to admit – then he needed to act quickly. He glanced down at his watch. He was running out of time to decide what to believe.  
  
"And you expect me to believe your frantic fabrications, just like that? Without any proof whatsoever?" he demanded.  
  
"No," cut in the Colonel's voice.  
  
Methos froze. He had been so focused on Daniel, he hadn't even heard the Colonel enter the room. The Colonel walked up to Daniel, put an arm on his shoulder, squeezed it gently, then turned back to face Methos.  
  
Methos glared back at him.  
  
"We don't expect you to believe anything, "Colonel O'Neill said. "It's you who have the explaining to do. You've tried to put this base out of action, injured half a dozen of my men, and now we can prove that it's your ship up there in orbit. So stop toying with us, and tell us who, exactly, you are working for, and why your ship is attacking defenses."

* * *

So, did you like first installment of the Danny-Methos stand-off?? 


	20. Stalemate

**Author's notes**: Thank you all for your lovely comments, I really appreciate them. Please don't kill me when you get to the end of this - more will be forthcoming soon! This is not a death fic, and the loose strands will be resolved, promise.  
  
Thanks again to Jezowen and Village Mystic for numerous suggestions that greatly improved this - and of course don't blame them for the suggestions I didn't go with!

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY: STALEMATE?  
**  
As Colonel O'Neill jabbed a finger at him, Methos stared back, stunned. They thought it was his spaceship up there? This was an interesting development. First they had had Daniel smother him with information, trying to persuade him that they were the good guys. Now Colonel O'Neill was back to play bad cop.   
  
It was almost convincing. He was certain, now, that the SGC really were on the level. Almost convinced. Well, maybe.   
  
But if they were the good guys, he needed to stop the bomb. So he had to find a way resolve this, and now. He tried not to think of the consequences of making the wrong decision.  
  
If only Thor would appear, and confirm that they really were all working for truth, justice and the American way. Well, vaguely on the same side at any rate, even if he wouldn't personally qualify as an eager cadet on Roger Ramjet's team.  
  
He turned to Daniel, and willed him to believe. "Daniel, we really don't have time for this," he said intently. "I've got nothing to do with that spaceship up there; you'll just have to take my word for it. I can't prove I'm not working for a Goa'uld – can you prove that you're not?"

* * *

Daniel looked at Jack with annoyance. He'd just succeeded in getting Adam to start opening up, and they'd been making real progress. He was pretty sure now that this whole mess had all been a comedy of errors. Adam had thought the SGC were Goa'uld, and they'd thought he was. Each of them was really just trying to defend Earth.  
  
Except that now Jack was undermining the rapport he'd built in one of his classic, military 'I'm bored with diplomacy, let's crash-through-or-crash' interventions. He'd better have a good reason for this interruption.  
  
It was pretty clear that Adam had some knowledge they could use in their fight, so it really didn't make sense to alienate him at this point. He turned back to Adam to answer his question.  
  
"Of course I can't prove a negative, Adam. But …," he trailed off as he felt Jack's arm grip his shoulder and cut across his words.  
  
"Don't tell him anything more, Daniel," Jack warned. "Carter's just finished analyzing the data Teal'c collected from his little jaunt. Your friend 'Adam's' body energy readings exactly match those of the craft's force-field. It's his ship."   
  
Daniel was trying to shake free of Jack's grip when his words penetrated. He stared up at Adam, astonished, but Adam's eyes were wide open. He looked totally flummoxed.

* * *

General George Hammond, Commander of Cheyenne Mountain pro tem, looked at the screens above his head. The base had now been on high alert for too many hours, yet he hardly knew more than he had several hours ago.  
  
True, they now had the dimensions of the enormous object sitting in their skies, which they had arbitrarily labeled a spacecraft. And shortly, he was assured, they would even be able to track it.  
  
But even if they could locate the thing, the solar storm depicted raging on one of the screens above him meant there wasn't a lot he could do about it. The radiation levels had turned dangerously high – too high to send the F-302s up for at least another twelve hours.   
  
Not that there was any point sending them up even if he could, he reflected gloomily, since they had no way of penetrating the barrier that protected the craft.   
  
He had been kept busy of course. At DEFCON 2, he was getting constant calls from the Joint Chiefs and the President, all wanting information he simply couldn't provide. He really hoped his team would come up with something more concrete, and soon.  
  
It was all made worse by the security protocols that went with DEFCON 2. Everyone had now been locked in the Mountain for far too many hours, and with all five shifts theoretically on duty, space was tight. It wasn't surprising that the troops were getting restless.  
  
It didn't help that the adrenaline was flowing freely - every time an aircraft strayed from its flight path, or didn't immediately identify itself anywhere near the North American continent, it had to be viewed as a possible threat. And for some reason, where normally there might be one a day, they'd already had half a dozen.   
  
Each time, Air Command had to assume that the non-compliant aircraft could be about to launch another September 11-style attack. He, of course, had to assume that it might be the start of an alien invasion. In a perverse way, it was kind of entertaining watching the groups – those in the know, and those not – trying to work through their scenario.   
  
Of course, not everyone was working hard. He glanced up at the security monitor and watched Colonel Edwards pacing up and down outside his office. He looked extraordinarily calm and collected for someone who had almost been responsible for blowing up the General's command.

Edwards could wait a while longer, George decided. He picked up the phone to the get an update on the search of Adams' apartment.

* * *

Methos gaped at Colonel O'Neill and Daniel as his mind started racing. His energy readings matched the ship's? Could the spaceship be crewed by immortals? Were they, after all, not of Earth, but from some other planet? Could the ship be some probe from home, come to check on its children, a la the whales in Star Trek IV? But it didn't make any sense.   
  
True, immortals were always foundlings; but the mystery was where they came from, not where they went to. Immortals were invariably sterile. Yet still immortal babies appeared, grew up on Earth, and died there.   
  
Unless their race practiced some bizarre approach to childrearing, dropping their eggs in someone else's nest, and waiting until the weak had been culled before coming to bring the adults home? Although 5,000 plus years was an awful long time to wait to come and pick up the offspring from the babysitters.   
  
Methos dismissed the thought. It was preposterous.  
  
"You're saying the spaceship matches my energy readings?" Methos queried, incredulous. "Colonel, I know absolutely nothing about the ship. What I do know is that we are running out of time. Let me prove my goodwill. You have a rather more immediate little problem."  
  
"Little problem, Lieutenant? " Colonel O'Neill almost whispered, his voice almost vibrating with suppressed rage. He pushed his face right up to the bars. "Just what else have you done to my base?"  
  
Methos grimaced. He wondered if now would be a good time to get underneath the bunk. It might provide him with some protection against Colonel O'Neill once he learnt what he had done, even if it wouldn't provide any against the actual blast.

* * *

Joe tried to look relaxed as the janitor walked him up to the apartment. Despite having two real legs, the man acted as if he was even more crippled than Joe was. Old age, he thought, shuddering, as he watched the man's beady eyes gleaming with the pleasure of having someone need him.  
  
In the background, Joe could hear someone practicing the cello. A couple of bars of what he recognized as one of the Bach unaccompanied cello suites was being repeated at half speed for the fifth time. Joe tensed as the cellist finally started it up to speed. His moment of elation was short-lived however, as the student's attempt to move onto the next section collapsed in a morass of unintended dissonance.   
  
"I don't think we've met before, have we?" the janitor said, breaking into his unconscious concentration on the music. "I was kind of expecting one of his team, although he didn't actually say so. Just told me to mind my own business in fact, " the man burbled on, "but I have to take an interest if you don't have a key to let yourself in, now don't I?"  
  
"Yes, and it's been very kind of you to take all this trouble," Joe said soothingly as they approached the door, "I expect one of his team might be along later. In the meantime, I can take it from here."  
  
"Sure, sure, the main said, obviously disappointed. "I know when I'm not wanted. Well, I'll leave you to it then?"   
  
"Yes, thank you very much for all your help. I really appreciate it." Joe pressed a couple of dollars into the old man's hands, and then firmly closed the door behind him, cutting off the cellist's latest attempt at the passage mid-bar.

* * *

General Hammond put down the phone and sighed. The other occupant of Adams' apartment had vanished without a trace. If the man did turn out to be disabled – as the wheelchair and adaptations to the apartment suggested – the searchers were never going to live down the jibes they were going to get from their peers.  
  
He had to sympathize with them though - the searchers had found how he had managed to get out undetected. Well, more like found several possible ways he could have gotten out. The place had proved a veritable rabbit warren, with boltholes and private exits.  
  
Still, there were clues. The apartment contained lots of photographs; what looked like a diary (albeit not written in English); and assorted personal papers. Sooner or later, they would be able to track whomever it was down. It was just a question of time – something they didn't have a lot of.  
  
The General stared down at the pictures that had been faxed through to him so far. A translucent-faced young woman seated on the sand of a beach looking wistfully up at him. Girl friend, he wondered? She looked incredibly fragile.  
  
The next shot showed a dark-haired pony-tailed man in his early thirties, posing in a mock-fight against a teenager, both with antique swords in their hands. A re-enactment of some kind? Or perhaps some advertising shoot – they both looked as if they were dressed in something out of GQ.  
  
Another showed an older man seated on a stool, bent over a guitar. In the window, he could make out a reflection of a sign saying "Le Blues Bar'.   
  
George flicked through the half-dozen other shots. The faces varied in age and gender, and none of them included Adams himself. He reached over and pushed a button on his desk.   
  
"Ah Simons," he said as the lieutenant entered the room. "Still on duty? I want you to get a check run on these photos. Liaise with the police and put out an all persons alert for them in Colorado Springs. And then see if you can find out who they are."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Lt Simons replied enthusiastically. "And if they do find them, should they detain them or wait for us?"  
  
"No, tell them to go ahead and detain them, but to be cautious. We don't know who they are or anything about them."  
  
"No problem, Sir, I'll get right on it."  
  
Hammond sighed to himself. If there was one thing worse than a lazy soldier, it was a young, over-enthusiastic one, still acting like the energizer bunny after almost two duty shifts in a row. He was getting too old for this kind of thing.  
  
"Oh, and get me some more coffee, would you Simons?" he said tiredly.  
  
"Of course, Sir," the Lieutenant returned as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

"Jack, calm down, " Daniel said. "Adam's just trying to help."  
  
"Oh, yes, and just why is that Adam – or Adams, or whatever his real name is - is suddenly so anxious to 'help'? Could it be that we are getting a little to close to the truth? Frankly, I could do with a little less of Lt Adams' so-called help. Let me see, what's he done so far. Well, he 'helped' me by sabotaging the data on the spacecraft, then helped me by disabling half a dozen SFs. And of course, almost blowing up the SGC really helped."  
  
Daniel frowned. He could see that Adam was getting more and more agitated by the second. He reached over and pulled Jack around to face him, determined to stop his rant. Only to see Jack wince, turn abruptly green, and grip the bars as if to hold himself up. Daniel cringed.  
  
"Sorry Jack," he said. "I forgot about your arm. But you need to stop and listen for a moment. Adam's story does make sense. I think we should listen to him if he says we have a problem." He looked anxiously at Jack.  
  
"Thank you, Daniel," Jack responded through obviously gritted teeth. "I'm feeling a lot better now. And I'm oh so ready to believe a lovely story. Not."

* * *

Joe sighed with relief as he closed the door behind him, and took in the room in front of him. Every square inch was crammed with artifacts, books, and papers. As he switched on the light, he noticed that the wall beside him contained an impressive display of swords. Could Dr Jackson be an immortal, he wondered? But no, Methos would have surely mentioned it if he had been. Of course, if Methos was right, Daniel Jackson and his friends might prove to be something far more dangerous. Was there a dragon lurking somewhere in this Aladdin's cave of a room? 

Joe forced his eyes away from the display, and decided to do a quick reconnoiter of the rest of the apartment. From the sound of the old man's ramblings, he might not have very long, and he needed to make the most of whatever respite he could find while he planned out his next steps.   
  
The study offered the best working space – like the rest of the apartment, it was crammed with papers and books, but there were fewer artifacts. And a delicate Chinese screen hid the desk from doorway quite nicely, just in case. He tucked his emergency bag down behind the desk, and pulled out the gun it contained. As soon as it was loaded, he felt safer. He tucked it into his waistband, plugged in his laptop, logged in, and then moved back to the kitchen area.  
  
Joe eyed the impressive-looking coffee maker with longing, but resisted the temptation. Instead, he sank into a chair and dialed a number on his new cell phone. As soon as the ringing tone ceased he started talking, the emergency codes rising effortlessly to the top of his mind.

* * *

Methos watched the interplay between the two men with growing impatience. The clock was ticking. He had to get the man to listen to him, and let him - rather than anyone else – defuse the bomb.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill, " he said. "You really need to listen to me." He moved up closer to the Colonel, who was still clinging to the bars of the cage. He looked as if he was about to faint. Methos paused for a moment, but time was running out. He started talking.  
  
"I'm still not completely sure, but Daniel's convinced me to trust you."  
  
As he spoke, he could see the Colonel regain control of his face. He pulled himself upright, let go of the bars, and replaced the pained look for one of contempt. The Colonel looked at him incredulously, and raised an eyebrow. "YOU'RE not completely sure!" he said.  
  
"Oh, I believe that Daniel believes what he's saying," Methos said. "But the Goa'uld will do anything to get what they want. I've heard of far more elaborate set-ups. And the Asgard still haven't turned up to vouch for you."  
  
"He's right, Jack," Daniel interjected, earnest as ever. "Think of that future SGC Hathor tried to fake us into believing in."  
  
This was interesting, he thought. It sounded suspiciously like confirmation – even if unconscious – of Daniel's story. Or was Daniel playing him?  
  
Colonel O'Neill turned to look at Daniel with what looked suspiciously like exasperation. "Shut up, Daniel," he said, "Let me handle this now. The Lieutenant was just about to explain how he knows all about the Goa'uld, and tell us all about that big honking spacecraft he's got up there."  
  
"Oh, he's already done that, Jack. He claims the Asgard removed the Goa'uld from him," Daniel shot in before the Colonel could stop him. 'Go, Danny, go!' he willed.  
  
"Daniel!" Colonel O'Neill said angrily.   
  
Methos glanced down at his watch. "He is correct, however, Colonel," he said. "But we really don't have time for this right now. I'm afraid you have a rather more immediate deadline in front of you. You need to let me out of this cell, right now, before this whole place goes up."  
  
"What!" the Colonel yelled. All right, Adams, start talking, I'm listening," Colonel O'Neill replied. "So give us something. Just what do you mean, the whole place goes up?"

* * *

Joe sat back and closed his eyes briefly. He could feel the adrenaline still. And a little excitement was certainly better than falling into being a crippled, friendless old man starved of human contact like the janitor.   
  
All the same, the truth was, he was just too old for this. It was why he had retired, after all. He'd never expected to have to utilize the Watcher's emergency procedures again – hell, his emergency kit had sat in his car unused for more than fifteen years. It wasn't that he'd never used it, of course. And he'd kept it up-to-date. But for most Watchers, the greatest danger was their own assignment, their subject.   
  
Joe hadn't had to live with that threat for years. He'd been lucky. His subject for the last two decades or more had been one of the good guys - a veritable boy scout as Methos constantly teased. More to the point, Duncan Macleod had become more than just another immortal subject to observe and report on. Duncan had become one of his closest friends.   
  
Of course, that had brought its own risks. Headhunters after the younger Highlander had a tendency to see those around him as hostages. And then there were the Highlander's trouble-magnet friends: Amanda, the beautiful jewel thief; Connor Macleod, the elder Highlander; and of course, Methos.  
  
Still, the truth was, the biggest danger to his welfare had actually proven to be the Watchers themselves. Still, that was all in the past, Joe reflected. His tenure as First Tribune had brought a change in attitude to interaction between Watchers and Immortals.  
  
Sighing, Joe pulled himself upright and started making his preparations – a disabled man, after all, needed every advantage he could get, fair, or foul. As soon as he was ready, he went back to the study to check his laptop. His emergency call should have generated some action by now.  
  
As his mail came up, he let out a sigh of relief – help was most definitely on the way.

* * *

Colonel Edwards stood up, fed up with trying to keep his face calm. It was unjust, he thought as he strode up and down the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing after him. He had followed the protocols correctly. If the electricity went down, and couldn't be restored within ten minutes, then the base went on self-destruct. And the protocols were there for a reason. The last thing Earth needed was for the Goa'uld to invade through an unprotected Stargate.  
  
It was all that woman's fault, Colonel Edwards thought grimly as he reached the end of the corridor once again. At least he didn't have to put up with a woman on his team. Women, after all, were not permitted to be combat troops, let alone Special Forces. Yet there Carter was, a member of the SGC's premier team, SG-1, no less.   
  
It wasn't that he was prejudiced against women in the military or anything, it was simply that he had read the research. And the research showed that in mixed teams, the men tended to protect the women, rather than focusing on the mission objective.   
  
And this incident was the classic illustration, the concrete proof that the SGC was making a grave mistake in allowing women to be part of frontline teams. He had no doubt that Major Dr Carter was responsible for O'Neill overriding the self-destruct.   
  
Well, even if Hammond wouldn't act, others could. At one level, it was just petty harassment – emerging from the Mountain to find your tires let down for example.   
  
He grinned to himself. He had heard that Carter had chased O'Neill out of the Mountain, apparently furious with him, only to find her car immobilized. Sooner of later she'd get the message.

* * *

General Hammond gritted his teeth as he watched the malicious grin appear on Edwards' face. He would soon put an end to that.  
  
"Come along in, Colonel, " he said mildly, making full play of his soft Texan accent.   
  
Colonel Edwards pulled himself to attention, and saluted. "Yes, Sir," he snapped off. He evidently had no illusions that his General's apparent mildness would last beyond the moment the door closed. Good – at least he wasn't stupid.  
  
"So just what did you think you were doing, Colonel Edwards, "Hammond demanded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "trying to destroy my command in the middle of a possible invasion?" He glared at the man, but then waved him to be quiet. "Don't bother even trying to explain," he said, disgustedly. "Effective immediately, you will be removed from the Gate Room duty roster. Just tell me why I shouldn't kick you out of the SGC altogether?"  
  
"No reason, Sir," Colonel Edwards replied. "Although I do hope you will give me another chance. But I do have a suggestion for preventing this particular problem from recurring."  
  
Oh did he indeed. General Hammond nodded at the Colonel, inviting him to continue.   
  
"Sir. A small naquadah reactor attached to the iris would be able to provide enough power to do a manual close of the iris if circumstances warranted. It could be set up to run from the back-up controls for the auto-destruct."   
  
"Assuming we survive the current crisis, " he snapped. Well, at least the man had a brain. He was about to continue his response when the phone started ringing. He reached across and picked it up.  
  
"Hammond," he said, "What have you got, Jacob?"  
  
"It's Major Carter, Sir, my father's just gone to get the Colonel, but we agreed this couldn't wait," Samantha Carter said breathlessly.  
  
"Just one moment, Major," he replied. "I'll be right with you."  
  
He cupped his hand over the receiver, and turned back to Colonel Edwards. "I don't have time for this at the moment, Edwards. I'll take your suggestion under advisement. In the meantime, return to the SGC and consider yourself confined to quarters. Dismissed."  
  
General Hammond turned his attention back to the phone. "Go ahead, Major, what do you have?"  
  
"It's the spacecraft, Sir. Now that I've had a chance to analyze the data and compare it to what we've got on the Asgard's transporter, as well as the Goa'uld ring transport system, I think I've found something. I was trying to make sense of the spikes on the readings, and I think I've managed to identify them, Sir."  
  
Hammond sighed to himself.   
  
"So what exactly have you found, Major Carter?" he said patiently.  
  
"Sir, the object seems to be generating energy beams, directed at Earth. I think that they are transporter beams, beaming someone or something down." He heard her gulp. "Sir, we have to assume an invasion force is already here, on Earth."

* * *

Methos stopped pacing and turned back to face Colonel O'Neill. The time had come to stop playing games. Before he could speak, though, the Goa'uld – no, Tok'ra – General entered the room, and pulled Colonel O'Neill aside.   
  
"Jack, we've got a situation, "he heard the General say. "Sam's just found something you need to deal with right now. She's alerting George at the moment."  
  
Methos took in the General's pale face and sweating brow. "Looks like they've found my little toy, "he said conversationally. "It's probably too late though, unless you get me down there right now."   
  
Jack looked inquiringly at the General, who shook his head.   
  
"What do you mean, Adams, "Jack said. "What's this toy you think they've found?"  
  
"I've turned your Major's reactor into a naquadah bomb, Colonel. Set to go off in, oh about ten minutes from now. That's if your Major doesn't manage to trigger it early by attempting to defuse it. True, it's not very big, but it's enough to set up a chain reaction with your Chappa'ai."  
  
"Shit, "the pseudo-Goa'uld said, quickly. "That's not why I came here, Jack. Sam's found that the spaceship is transporting something - or someone - to Earth. We have to assume the invasion has started."

* * *

Sam had just gone back to work when Sgt Mason knocked on her door.  
  
"Sergeant Mason reporting, Ma'am. I have an all clear on this level and the emergency shaft between here and the archives. Should I report in to General Carter?"  
  
"Sure, Sergeant, I've already reported the computers clear, I was just waiting for you to finish your sweep." As he started to move to the phone, she suddenly realized that she hadn't actually checked her lab out properly at all. She'd been distracted by the data. And, she had to admit, by the new Colonel Smart-Jack. She stood up, and started moving towards him.  
  
"Hold on a moment, Sergeant, "she said. "I'd better just do a last check of the lab, I've really only focused on the computers."  
  
She turned around, and started checking the equipment on her bench-top. Suddenly she paled.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit," Colonel O'Neill said, already moving.  
  
"If you're so on the level now Adams, tell us about the invasion. We've already searched the place from top to bottom, is this just another of your diversionary tricks?"  
  
"Daniel, please, "he begged. "If you don't want this base destroyed, I need to defuse the bomb NOW."  
  
"Jack," Daniel pleaded.  
  
"All right," the Colonel replied. "We have to treat it as a serious threat, regardless. GUARD, "he yelled. "Unlock that man. We're going for a little walk down to Major Carter's lab." He ran across to the wall and hit the alarm button, then hit the speaker button. "Control Room, this is not a drill. Start evacuating the SGC immediately. Notify Major Carter there may be a bomb in her lab, and tell her not to touch it till we get there."  
  
Methos watched as Jack spun around, and gestured at the General. "Get up top and brief General Hammond, Jacob. I'll make sure Sam gets out. You," he said, jabbing his finger at him. "Come with me. Everyone else, out now."   
  
Methos saw Daniel open his mouth, and then close it again as the Colonel glowered at him. "No arguments, Daniel."  
  
He grabbed Methos, and snapped cuffs around his wrists. Methos scowled. Exactly how was he supposed to defuse the bomb in cuffs? Then he looked down at his wrists again and saw the time on his watch. He wondered why it was that he was headed towards the bomb rather than away given the time, but quickly suppressed the thought. He started running towards the elevators, a small herd of anxious attendants close on his heels.

* * *

Before Sam could move, the alarms started whooping through the building. "This is not a drill," the loudspeakers said. "Evacuation protocol A is now in effect. All staff must exit the SGC immediately."  
  
The phone on her wall started ringing. She grabbed it, pushing the Sergeant towards the door in front of her. "Go, "Sam said to the Sergeant, pushing him towards the door. "Get out the door, NOW, and keep going." She noticed his hesitation. "He's turned my reactor into a bomb, "she said urgently. "My guess is that the Colonel just got him to admit it. You go ahead and get out of here. I'm going to try and defuse it."  
  
She turned away, and put the phone to her ear. "Carter," she barked. She listened impatiently as the voice at the other end told her what she already knew, and ordered her not to attempt to defuse the bomb. Frustrated, she responded with a curt, "Acknowledged."

* * *

"It's going to be close," Methos said, staring down at his feet. Just why was it that he was heading towards the bomb, and not away, again? He forced himself to relax – there was no way of hurrying the elevator.  
  
"How do I know this isn't a trick to enable you to trigger the bomb now that you know the invasion has started?" O'Neill demanded suspiciously.  
  
"Well, we could all wait another five minutes and find out if you like," Methos drawled back, looking around at the SFs accompanying them. "But personally I prefer being in one piece rather than being pulverized. It takes so long to regenerate when you're blown up."   
  
He turned to the wall and found himself staring at Jack's suspicion-ridden face, reflected in the smooth-metal walls.   
  
"On the other hand, you could try trusting me. I admit I was trying to take out the base. I came to NORAD hoping to help get Earth's defenses in place against the enemy I knew was out there. But then every sign I saw suggested that I was too late - the military had already been infiltrated by the Goa'uld, and were preparing to take over Earth."  
  
Methos found himself wishing that Daniel were here with him to intercede. Still, he would rather Daniel, of any of them, survived this. He willed the elevator to move faster, as the Colonel stared at him thoughtfully. "Look, Colonel," he said, holding up his hands, still cuffed. "I'm going to need my hands if you're going to let me defuse the thing."  
  
The Colonel slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. "I just hope I'm doing the right thing," he said.  
  
"And I hope you're not doing it too late," Methos muttered in response.

* * *

Sam stared at the bomb on her bench-top for another moment, fuming ,and tried to block out the sound of the whooping sirens. Well, if she wasn't allowed to touch the damned thing, she may as well fallback to the elevators and wait for the Colonel to get there. She had just reached the elevator when Colonel O'Neill arrived, Lt Adams propelled firmly in front of him.  
  
She lifted an eyebrow in surprise. What exactly was their chief suspect doing here, rather than in the brig? She could see a crowd of SFs behind them, one of them holding his hand to prevent the door from closing. She drew back her focus to the main problem.  
  
"Sir, "she said, "The bomb's on my lab table. I'm pretty sure I can defuse it, if you'll just let me try. It's…"  
  
"Can we stop arguing and let me get on with it," Lt Adams butted in.  
  
To her amazement, Colonel O'Neill simply nodded. "Major, get in the elevator and head out now. Lt Adams here has volunteered to defuse the bomb, I'll stay with him."   
  
She looked at him disbelievingly. "But, Sir, You can't trust him. Besides, …."  
  
"NOW, Major," he barked. Sam found herself moving before she was even conscious of it. The elevator doors started closing in front of her, gradually narrowing her view of the Colonel and his prisoner, Lt Adams.  
  
Then the bomb exploded.

* * *

This is not the end (see author's notes above)!


	21. Life Goes On

**Author's note**: Thank you once again to my fantastic betas - Jezowen, Village Mystic and Teri, for their ongoing support, and many suggestions and ideas that have made this a much better story than it otherwise would have been. Thanks also to a couple of reviewers – Barbara and Quamzin – whose suggestions I've drawn on.

**-----------------------------------------**

**CHAPTER 21: LIFE GOES ON**

Sam felt time slow to a standstill. It was as if the picture was being played on a monitor in front of her, one frame at a time. First, a hole appeared in the wall beside the elevator, and then flak from the bomb started ripping through from the lab, continuing on an eerily silent path towards her.

A moment later, a massive booming sound hit, leaving a shrill, ringing sound in her head. Her eardrums ruptured – she felt the blood dripping down her neck. As she watched, frozen, the bomb blast continued to rumble forward as if in slow motion, reducing everything in its path to rubble. Debris flew into the air, sucked into a magical, swirling fountain.

She tried to break the paralysis that gripped her as the elevator doors continued to inch closed at an agonizingly slow rate, racing against the cloud of dust that flew towards her. Outside of the dubious protection of the elevator, she caught a glimpse of the Colonel and Lt Adams, still standing, seemingly frozen in the corridor in front of her. At last, she managed to move forward, desperate to try and stop the doors from closing. But her efforts failed miserably as her metal prison rocked violently, flinging her off her feet. She crashed into Mason, bringing them both down to the floor.

As she struggled back up again, she could see the roiling shockwave as it moved yet closer, spreading outwards. Then, the frame seemed to freeze completely as the blast wave reached the mid-point of the corridor, and the dust coalesced into a swirling vortex.

Sam knew she was on the verge of blacking out, but all the same, she strained desperately for a last glimpse of the Colonel and his prisoner. But it was too late, the doors had finally snapped shut, cutting off her vision of the rushing terror. As the elevator rocked again, she started to tingle all over, as if caressed by the advancing wave of air. Then darkness swallowed her.

-----------------------------------

General Hammond tried to relax his grip on the heavy desk in front of him - the building was still shuddering as the giant springs on which it rested shook, but the reverberations were dying down now. The dull thud that had been heard a few seconds before the mini-Mountain-quake hadn't been that loud. But it had been sufficiently powerful to trigger the safety mechanisms that were supposed to protect the Operations Center from even a nuclear blast.

He wiped his now-clammy forehead, and tried to start moving towards the door of his office, the one that opened into the main operations room. Calm, he told himself, you don't know that they are all dead. Be calm. You have to be calm; you are in command.

Move, Airman, he told himself, get your ass into gear and find out what happened. His body, though, refused to obey, and he found himself slumping instead against the wall. The truth was he didn't have any real doubts as to where the epicenter of the blast had been. It was the SGC.

Hammond leaned against the comforting hardness of the wall for another moment. Only minutes beforehand, he had heard the SGC's evacuation alarm sound. An evacuation so urgent that no one had stayed in the Gate room long enough to respond to his desperate requests for information.

Move it, he told himself again. This time it worked. He swallowed, steeled his face, and entered the Control Room.

General Hammond studiously ignored the sudden flurry of activity in the Control Room, and headed for the command station. He leaned over the panel and took in the readings. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Sir, we don't know," Colonel Campbell replied. His normally slicked-back brown hair looked ruffled. "The monitors are showing an event, centered on the Mountain. It was quite small – less than a 1 on the Richter scale – but that's all we've got so far."

"Then find out more, fast. Get someone down to the SGC immediately," Hammond replied abruptly.

"Yessir," Campbell said.

--------------------------------------------------

Joe shifted gingerly in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. He had been standing propped up, hidden behind the coat-stand next to the apartment door now for more than twenty minutes. The waiting was getting to him. He really hoped that the mystery friend of Dr Jackson appeared soon, or he was going to be too stiff to carry out Plan A.

He needed this plan to work. It was the only way he could see that could get him access to Methos. All the same, it was so obviously born of desperation. But he had few choices. He'd set up the study as his fallback position, complete with a few toys to take down anyone who got that far. But he rather hoped that Plan A would work out, and his extreme measures wouldn't get used.

Joe sighed to himself. The waiting was always the worst part of any plan. Not helped by the fact that he could just hear the sarcastic commentary that Methos would have issued if he had been there running through his head. He just hoped the truly old man of the pair of them appreciated why a crippled old man was prepared to take on a young, fit and probably well-trained military-type in a rather desperate rescue attempt.

------------------------------------------------

George Hammond looked around the Control Room and felt utterly helpless. Already, the duty staff had turned back to what they had been doing, completely focused on their tasks. He had ordered the emergency management plan to be activated – but until he knew if there was anyone to rescue, there was nothing more he or anyone else here could do for the SGC.

But he did need to worry about the rest of the world, he told himself. Focus on the big picture. The fate of the SGC was only a small piece of the bigger crisis, and it was his job to deal with it. Aliens could already be attempting to take over at the beam-down sites around the world.

And yet, even as he thought it, his thoughts kept drifting back to his friends, his colleagues. For as they faced their toughest battle yet, they would have to fight without their best and brightest.

He surveyed the Control Room, and tried to assess the progress his teams were making. In one corner, he could hear Colonel Will Eastman dispatching teams to investigate the beam-down sites Major Carter had identified. In another, Colonel Dwyer, head of the gamma shift, was co-coordinating the intelligence-gathering effort. It ought to be the easy task - after all, if aliens had beamed into the streets of New York more than twenty-four hours ago surely there would have been news reports to follow up, something. But the stressed look on the Colonel's face made it clear that it wasn't proving so.

Given their lack of progress to date, Hammond wondered if some kind of stealth technology might be involved. There wasn't much he could do about that for now though – the Ree'tou detectors and most of the other alien combat technology they had was down in the SGC. Assuming anything survived the blast.

Stop. Don't go there, General Hammond told himself. You'll learn what's going on soon enough. He forced himself to actually see the screens above his head, to study what it was showing.

He studied the plot showing the path of the errant spaceship. A small clock was counting down time to impact with yet another satellite. Orbital decay in six hours he read. Maybe the enemy ship was damaged. He could only hope.

He switched his gaze to the map of the world. He couldn't see any obvious pattern to the thirty or so flashing red dots. There were concentrations in some of the major centers – and he supposed that Colorado Springs was a logical military target, given the location of the Stargate. But why would invaders be interested in small towns like Seacouver, Sunnydale, and Cascade?

-------------------------------------------------

Had he been fully human, Teal'c would have sighed with relief as the taxi pulled up in front of Daniel's apartment building. He was truly exhausted. His venture into space – and the lightning-like energy that had attacked him – had sapped his strength, and more particularly, his ability to deal with other people.

Normally he would have retreated to meditate, to kel'no'reem. But he had been at Patterson Air Force Base, not Cheyenne Mountain, and the base had been on full alert. The extra personnel pulled in to deal with the alien spacecraft had left no individual quarters available. He was grateful, therefore, that his friends had offered the use of their homes to him, to grant him some private space.

Times such as this led him to regret the loss of the healing powers of his symbiote. He sometimes wondered whether he had really gained anything by swapping his dependency on the prim'ta for dependency on a drug synthesized from its chemicals. True, the symbiote was a constant reminder of his – and all Jaffa's – slavery to the Goa'uld. And on this world, a prim'ta was a ticking bomb, always carrying the risk that it would escape, and take some unsuspecting host. But he had lost so much of what he could offer the Tau'ri – his symbiote-endowed strength, his ability to heal quickly.

Teal'c pushed away these thoughts. He had tried to take the honorable path of death, and O'Neill had stopped him. Had convinced him that he did still have something to offer. He was just tired - he truly needed to Kelno'reem.

Just one more obstacle to navigate, he thought wearily. He leaned forward and thanked the taxi driver while carefully calculating the amount of cash required. Even after nearly seven years of living on Earth, he still found the concept of payment for service bizarre. One did what was required out of a sense of duty, honor, or, if you happened to be in the service of the Gods, simply to live. In return, the Gods – false gods, he reminded himself – provided all that was needful, and rewarded their honored servants and warriors.

He had expected it to be the same in his new home, and at first, it had been. The SGC had provided his food and accommodation, and met his simple requirements without fuss. But then O'Neill had taken him off base to experience life in his new world, and introduced him to money. It had taken a while for him to grasp the concept.

Even odder, though, was this custom of tipping. Instead of specifying the correct level of payment, you were required to add an additional component. Yet the rules for calculating this additional sum differed from service to service, and indeed were subject to variation on some basis he had yet to fully understand.

He glanced apprehensively at the driver. The consequences of incorrectly judging this additional payment had proved extremely disconcerting in his experience. On this occasion, however, the driver appeared satisfied, and allowed him to disembark without adverse comment.

Teal'c entered the building utilizing his emergency key, and took the elevator up to Daniel's apartment. As he stood in the lift, he was conscious of the small tremors still running through him. He was glad no one intercepted him on the way in. He did not think he could have coped with Daniel's normally garrulous janitor just now.

---------------------------------------------

General Hammond looked up in surprise at the bubble of noise as the door to the Control Room was yanked open, and Jacob Carter burst into the room, pursued closely by two SFs, shouting at him to stop. Jacob's face was white, his fists clenched tight. George saw a flash of gold in his eyes, before his face returned to an expression of tight control. As Jacob started talking, he wondered to whom he was talking - Jacob or Selmak? Not that he could ask here.

"George, that was the SGC going up," Jacob - or Selmak - said, ignoring the SFs. "Adams turned Sam's naquadah reactor into a bomb. He admitted it and volunteered to help defuse it. I don't know what happened after that."

George Hammond rocked on his heels and gulped. His worst fears had been confirmed.

"How many got out?" he asked, his voice rasping on the words.

"I don't know," Jacob replied, equally anguished. George watched his friend's fists clench and unclench. "Jack promised to get Sam out, but I doubt there was time. I've got to go back and find her." He started moving towards the door.

"No, wait, Jacob." George managed to move his leaden limbs, and touched Jacob's shoulder. "I'll go with you. You're the only one who knows what was going on down there. You can brief me as we walk."

He turned back to his 2IC. "Colonel Campbell," he said, "You can co-ordinate from here. Let me know as soon as you get any news on the beam-down sites. I'm going to look at the situation with the SGC. Come on, Jacob."

"But, Sir," Colonel Campbell started protesting. "We're at DEFCON 2. You can't leave the control center."

"To hell with the protocol," he replied. "Indications are we have invaders already on the base. Besides, those are my people down there. Take charge here for the moment, Colonel, while I find out how bad the situation is. Everyone else already has their assignments."

Colonel Campbell nodded unhappily in understanding. "Good luck, Sir," he said. "I hope they all made it."

-----------------------------------------

Joe stiffened and picked up the tazer. He felt down to make sure his gun was still readily accessible. There were footsteps echoing from the corridor. This time, they didn't keep going on down the corridor, but stopped outside the door. He was wondering if it was the nosy janitor back to monitor his progress when he heard the scraping sound of a key entering the lock.

At least the waiting was over, he thought to himself. And at least this way, he would be seeing Methos soon - one way or the other.

As the key turned in the lock, he wished once again for legs that would let him crouch down, but even the latest prosthetics didn't quite allow that.

Joe picked up the end of the cord he had placed, making sure he was ready to pull up so it stretched across the entranceway but wouldn't stop the door from opening. He could feel his heart pounding, a veritable symphony of sound against the empty silence of the apartment.

Then the door pushed open, and he could hear the visitor striding forward. Joe stretched the cord tight and pulled it up, timing his actions carefully to catch the foot of the intruder as they moved past the vestibule. It worked – someone stumbled forward in front of him. Before they could hit the ground, Joe followed up with a burst from his tazer, causing the body to jerk uncontrollably for a moment.

As soon as he heard the body hit the ground, Joe pulled the gun out of his trouser waist. "Don't move," Joe said. "I have a gun - with a silencer - pointed at your head. I'll use it if necessary."

Joe took in his catch: a large African-American man lay at his feet, still twitching, but clearly unable to move. Unsurprising, given the stun effect of the tazer. Joe took in his sheer bulk. He had been amazingly lucky to bring him down, even taking into account his preparations.

Joe moved quickly – his only hope was to get the cuffs on the guy before the effects of the tazer wore off. Joe quickly snapped the locks over the man's still twitching wrists and ankles. After considering for a moment, he tied a connecting line to the door handle.

-----------------------------------

Selmak forced his host's body to stride rapidly, running to catch up to his friend George Hammond. Despite his control, they stumbled a few times as they hurried out the door of this building within the Mountain, and towards the vestibule that housed the elevator to the SGC.

What was it about the Tau'ri, he wondered distractedly, that made them insist on putting up three-storey buildings inside a perfectly good tunnel? Well, he supposed it kind of made sense given that they lacked the Tok'ra tunneling technology that enabled them to adapt the type of tunnels to the use to be made of them. All the same, it was a bizarre conceit - as if they were trying to lull the inhabitants into thinking they were in some ordinary office block, able to walk out into the street for a coffee, instead of being buried a kilometer or so underground.

The SGC's thirty or so levels of labyrinthine tunnels concealed in the depths below made much more sense to him than this bizarre in-between world that housed the publicly acknowledged functions of NORAD.

"Stop it, Selmak. Let me take control," Jacob growled at his symbiote mentally. "I can cope now. I was a soldier long before we were joined. I've faced losses like this before; I don't need to be mollycoddled."

"My apologies, Jacob, I only wished to help." He disengaged his links to Jacob's motor systems. "I was merely attempting to divert myself." He allowed a little of his anguish to seep through the link. "You think I don't feel as if Sam is my daughter too, that they weren't my friends? We feel as one, Jacob," he reminded his companion.

"Sorry, Selmak, of course we do," Jacob replied. But now that the link between them was wider, Selmak could feel more of Jacob's pain and anguish too. As their feelings pooled together, their grief escalated. They slid to a halt abruptly. "Sorry, Selmak," Jacob whispered in his mind. "Please take back control." Selmak acted quickly, before the tears he could feel welling up could reach their face, then ran to catch up to General Hammond, forcing down his emotions as he moved. He needed to brief the General, he knew.

---------------------------------------------

Joe stood back and admired his handiwork smugly. It was a mistake.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw a blur of motion, and then found himself sitting on his backside. Quickly, he took in his error: his prisoner had managed to rip his leash free, and had managed to swing his legs around and kick Joe over. Now he was trying to grab at Joe's legs.

Recovering, Joe scrabbled backwards, trying desperately to get out of the man's reach. He was too slow. A moment of blinding pain ripped through him as he watched his artificial legs slide away from his body.

For a second, his attacker stopped moving. Instead, he looked down at the limbs nestled in his arms in consternation. It gave Joe the time he needed. He levered himself up on his forearms, pulled up his gun, did his best to aim and squeezed off a shot. He cursed as the man twitched at the last instant, throwing off his aim.

All the same, a muffled popping sound escaped the silencer, and a plume of red blossomed on his enemy's shoulder as the bullet found its target.

A moment later Joe's artificial limbs crashed to the floor as the man let go of his catch. The prisoner lay back on the floor, panting, and in obvious pain, and reached up with his still joined wrists to try and staunch the flow of blood.

Joe crawled forward quickly, jerked the legs back towards himself, then scrabbled back out of the way, and began to calmly reattach them, conscious of the hard stare of his erstwhile assailant.

"You are kek?" the man demanded in a deep rumbling voice with a lightly odd accent.

"What?" Joe replied, watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

"You are a cripple?" the man said. "You have no legs? And yet you have not taken the honorable path?"

His head snapped up. "I prefer to describe myself as disabled rather than crippled," Joe replied tartly. "Though obviously not as disabled as you are currently! And I do have legs, as you've discovered."

As he spoke, Joe found himself transfixed by a gold emblem affixed to the man's forehead. It wasn't like anything he'd seen before – could it be alien? He forced himself to focus on what the man was saying.

"As for honor, I was wounded while serving my country," he snapped. "And I will continue to defend it against anyone who comes to destroy us."

He glared at the man, wondering if this was in fact the alien enemy. The trouble was, tattoo and size aside, there was nothing to really indicate that he was alien. But then, immortals looked just like everyone else too.

Joe forced his eyes away from the intricate gold design on his captive's forehead, and surveyed the evidence of their brief struggle: an upturned table, a discarded baseball cap, a few papers strewn about the floor. And the rapidly accumulating pool of blood at his captive's feet. He must have nicked an artery, he thought clinically. And if he didn't do something quickly, the man would bleed out in front of him.

"I meant no disrespect," the prisoner replied. "I have a high regard for the veterans of the military forces of this world." His jaw suddenly clamped shut.

World! Joe added it to his list of anomalies. All the same, the red blood pouring from his shoulder looked perfectly normal. Well, alien or not, he needed the prisoner alive if he was going to be of any use in rescuing Methos.

"Good," Joe said. "Then you'll respect me enough to let me do something about that bullet wound."

----------------------------------------------

George Hammond could see that the crowd was swelling as he moved closer to the entrance to the SGC. Vultures, he thought uncharitably. Then, he recognized some familiar faces from the SGC. At least some of them got out, he realized with relief, and started scanning the crowd anxiously.

A tall redhead in Air Force uniform with NORAD patches waved at him then strode rapidly towards him. "Sir," she said, "We've set up an emergency center in the Ops Center commissary."

Close, Hammond read on her name badge. Space Control Beta Watch commander, he remembered.

"Thank you, Major Close, that will do nicely," George Hammond replied. "What else have you done so far?" he demanded.

"That's it, General. I've just arrived," Major Close replied.

"Thank you, Major, it's a good start," he said, dismissing her. "Alright everyone, listen up," he shouted out, clapping his hands to get attention. The hubbub started to die down.

"I want a triage system set up. The commissary will be our medical center for the duration. Anyone with medical skills, report to Major Close here." He pointed to the woman beside him. "General Carter will assemble the rescue teams." He waved at Jacob, who had linked up with some of the SGC personnel.

As he spoke, Hammond could see that the crowd's agitation was noticeably reducing, and refocusing on concrete action. "If there's anyone else here who can give me any details of what happened or what's been done so far, come and see me now. Anyone from the SGC, report to the desk-sergeant and get your name checked against the logbook," George continued. "Get cleared by medical, then come see me if you want to join the rescue effort. If you're not up to it, we'll arrange somewhere for you to go and recover. Everyone else, get back to you posts. You will just be impeding the rescue efforts. Dismissed."

He watched as the crowd started to swirl around his two anointed point people, and the remainder started reluctantly to move away, when a pathway suddenly started forming, and an agitated looking airman ran through, waving a radio.

"Sir! Sir! We've got Major Ferretti on the radio, on level 15." The young man beamed happily.

George Hammond broke out into a smile. At least someone was alive down there. He snatched up the radio and started talking.

--------------------------------------------------

Please, do review and let me know if you think this is back on track.

13


	22. Resurrectionis

**Revised 10.5.04**

**CHAPTER 22 – Resurectionis**

General Hammond watched as the team started lowering themselves down the elevator shaft. His initial elation had long since turned grim. On the plus side, they had been able to clear the debris, and get the upper elevators working again. On the minus side - the SGC had survived. Mostly.

But there had been almost two hundred people on the base when disaster had struck. So far, Ferretti had managed to locate 180 of them. Three of the known survivors were severely wounded, and half a dozen more had minor injuries. It was very light toll all things considered, he tried to tell himself.

Sooner or later, though, they'd start finding the bodies. There was just the slight problem of one missing level – Level 19. Where Samantha Carter's lab was located. And where Colonel O'Neill had been heading when all hell had broken loose.

Of course, the very fact that anything at all of the base had survived should be grounds for thanks, George Hammond reflected. He just wished the casualties hadn't included his flagship team. How ironic that SG-1 should die here, on Earth, after all their battles across the galaxy – no, make that galaxies. Hell, make that universes, he thought remembering some of their adventures in parallel universes through the quantum mirror.

He felt torn – unable to watch, yet wanting to know for sure. In the end though, he decided duty called. Reluctantly, he turned, and headed back to the control center.

-----------------------------------------------

He tried to open his eyes. They wouldn't open – in fact, he couldn't move at all. Who was he? Where was he? He tried desperately to remember what had happened.

Then it started coming back to him. He – Colonel Jack O'Neill - had felt the buzzing sensation that signaled the use of an Asgard transporter. Was he dreaming, he wondered. This had all happened before – but hadn't he been rescued?

Jack started to panic - where had Maybourne-Lanthos beamed him back from this time? No, he screamed in his mind, no, not again, don't repair the damage, let me die. I will never serve the Goa'uld. Never. But in his heart, he knew it was useless: sooner or later, he would break, and give the Goa'uld who had taken over Maybourne's body what he wanted, namely, control of Thor's ship.

Jack whimpered again, as the fever raged in his brain. This had to be a dream. Remember, he told himself. The Asgard pulled you out. You were home, recovering under the tender ministrations of Dr Fraiser. You stopped the self-destruct, he told himself. You were stopping the bomb that Lt Adams had set.

Yeah, so, if this is a dream, how come you got beamed up this time, his immobile body screamed back at him. Face it, this is reality. _That_ was just another dream.

He wondered again how Lanthos had managed to get onboard Thor's ship – by the time he had been beamed up, Thor hadn't been in a position to talk. The Goa'uld had used Maybourne's knowledge, he assumed, to talk his way in, then tried to seize control.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, from Jack's perspective - most of the systems would not operate for anyone with a symbiote. Hence Jack's presence – either to operate the systems for them himself, or to act as leverage to force Thor into doing it.

Jack attempted once again to gain control of his facial muscles, trying to move them to flex into a fake smile, then a frown. This time it worked. OK, so we have a few muscles working, he thought. Hey, weren't there more muscles in the face than anywhere else in the body? He was sure he had read that in _Nature_ - or maybe it had been _Scientific American_ - a few years back. Suppressing the irrelevancy, he tried his eyes again. This time his lids rolled back, stinging as if he had just rubbed chili into them.

Crap, he thought, staring up at the distinctive lid of an Asgard stasis/medical chamber. He really was back. He really was a captive again on Thor's ship. He was at the mercy of the twisted whims of the Goa'uld that had taken over Harry Maybourne.

How many times was he going to be condemned to being beamed into one of Earth's apparently numerous locations that only marginally supported life, only to be 'rescued' in time for the sarcophagus or stasis unit to do its thing?

His head hurt, he realized, just as something jabbed into him, instantly relieving the pain. He decided to continue his catalog of motion, but beyond his face, nothing worked. But before panic could set in, memory flooded back to him once again, and he remembered the swirling vortex of dust as the bomb in the SGC had exploded. He HAD escaped from Lanthos, had been rescued.

So why was he back in the stasis unit? He had been sure that Carter's shielding device had worked – he'd seen the vortex stop and collapse as if it had run into an invisible wall, just before it had reached him.

'Relax, O'Neill,' a voice said in his head. 'You required medical attention; you will regain control of your body shortly.'

That little grey monster had done it again, he raged. Kidnapped him without warning and zapped him up to his ship. You'd have thought Thor would know better than to beam him up without warning after their last little adventure, even if he was an alien. And why was he in the stasis chamber - just how bad was the damage this time?

Jack fought off panic, and tried willing the machine to open up and let him out. Nothing, nada. _Thor_, he yelled in his head. _I know you can hear me, let me out of here. _He thought he heard a faint response, and waited for more, but nothing happened. He tried to sound stern. _You can't keep me prisoner forever. Let me out, right now._ Instead, he felt another jab, just before he faded into unconsciousness.

-------------------------------------------

"I'm sorry, George, but there's no hope," Jacob's voice sounded defeated as it crackled through the radio. "We're confident that we've located all of the survivors. Most of the base is intact – some structural damage on levels 20 and 21 that led to the injuries, and elevator 1 will need to be completely replaced, but aside from that, it's fine. Except for level 19. It simply doesn't exist any more. Over."

General Hammond stared down at his desk in dismay. How could it happen – a catastrophe of this size, yet hardly anyone dies. Except his best people, his closest friends. All the same, he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Look Jacob," he said, "You can't be sure until we've searched under the rubble. We've still got to hope. I'll get a specialist team down to help you, over."

There was a noticeable pause before the response came back.

"No George. I brought my own team through with special detection equipment. We can assure you that there is no one alive under there. Everything - and I do mean everything - is literally dust. Things are under control here now, so I'm heading back up."

George Hammond absorbed Jacob – no, Selmak's – words.

"But you haven't found their bodies yet, Jacob," he said to his friend. "SG-1 has come back from the dead before, and they'll do it again. Maybe they're trapped somewhere your detectors can't see them. I'm not giving up yet."

"I'm sorry, George," his friend replied, his voice a desiccated rasp. "I'll see you shortly. Out."

-------------------------------------------

Joe stared down at the papers he'd removed from his now-unconscious prisoner's wallet. The man, alien or not, had passed out almost as soon as he had started working on his shoulder – he'd lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, the flow seemed to have slowed to a near stop for now, but the patient wasn't looking good. His breathing was uneven, his face pale, and a sheen of perspiration beaded his forehead.

Now what? He thought to himself.

The papers identified the prisoner as Air Force Consultant Murray Teal. Joe was betting it wasn't his real name. More suspicious though was his address: apparently, he not only worked at the base, but lived there as well.

----------------------------------------------

Sam came back to awareness to find herself lying on what felt like a metal slab. Cautiously, she lifted her head and looked around. In the far corner of the room, a window gave a view of what was unmistakably space. She looked around. She was on an Asgard ship. She swung her legs around, and sat up.

"Please be cautious, Major Carter," Thor's calm, quiet voice said. "I have repaired your injuries, but you will require a little time to fully recover."

"Thor," she said, in relief. It came out as a mere croak. "What about the others? Did you bring them up here? Are they safe?"

"There is no cause for alarm," Thor replied calmly. "Your shielding adaptation proved effective. However, the level on which you lab was housed was destroyed, as was the elevator in which you sheltered. I was able to rescue you and your party. There were two casualties amongst your 'SFs', however, I have been able to restore them to health. There are several more wounded, but I believe it is within the capabilities of your own people to attend to these. The bulk of your facility is unharmed."

"Where is Colonel O'Neill?" she said agitatedly. "Lt Adams and Colonel O'Neill were in the corridor. And what about the others in the elevator? Did you bring them up here too?"

"Do not be concerned, Major Carter. All of the personnel who were with you are safe. I will escort you to them shortly if you wish," Thor said. "I am a little surprised however that you put yourself in this situation. Was it not a little rash to test your new shielding capacity within the confines of the SGC? I had thought that you would utilize a less critical location for this purpose. Or was this another of your 'stupid ideas' that had some higher objective?"

Sam felt herself momentarily distracted as she remembered her experience helping the Asgard defeat the replicators in one of the battles in their seemingly endless war. The Asgard had tried every approach their sophisticated minds could come up with. It was the direct approach, the unexpected, that the Tau'ri could contribute, and that had won the day.

The _O'Neill_ had been the Asgard's last hope for victory. And it had achieved its task - just not in the way the Asgard had anticipated. Instead of proving the ultimate weapon against the metallic bugs, Sam's 'stupid idea' had been to lure the replicators into following the newest, most technologically advanced ship of the Asgard fleet, and then destroy it – and them with it. Perhaps Thor had concluded from this experience that she liked blowing things up?

"No, Thor, we had a saboteur. Someone masquerading as a young airman turned my reactor into a bomb. Luckily for us he didn't know about the shielding. Now how about taking me to see my colleagues?"

-------------------------------------------------

Teal'c held himself still and tried to keep his breathing steady as he slowly swum up to consciousness. Where was he? Pain swam across his body as he focused on the smells around him – old papers, coffee-grounds, and odd spices. It was enough to remind him of what had happened: he was in Daniel's apartment.

"It's obvious you are awake, Mr Teal," a rather dry, laconic voice said. "Don't even think of trying to escape. I'm a very good shot, as you already know. Perhaps you'd care to make some introductions now?"

Teal'c kept his eyes closed, intent on bluffing his captor out. How much did he know, he wondered.

He took an inventory of his status. It wasn't good. He was hot and feverish, and the bandages digging into his shoulder reminded him that he was badly wounded. His wrists and ankles were still immobilized. But at least the tremors he had been experiencing had finally died away.

"It's no good pretending," the voice said. "I know you're awake. You may as well start talking because you are going to help me if you want to get the medical attention you clearly need."

There was no point in further dissembling, he decided. He tried to roll towards the voice, but accidentally hit his shoulder as he moved. The pain was excruciating. He forced himself past the pain and opened his eyes. "I am Murray Teal," he said politely. "Who are you, what are you doing in the apartment of my friend Dr Daniel Jackson?"

---------------------------------

"Wake up, O'Neill," a voice whispered in his ear. "You will recover full use of your body shortly."

Thor, he realized. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at the small gray alien through the open lid of an Asgard medical stasis chamber.

"The paralysis should wear off in a few moments, O'Neill," he said. "I regret that it was necessary to beam you up and place you in stasis," the familiar tones went on. "However, you were hit by some stray debris and were in need of urgent medical attention. I have taken the liberty of healing your wounds from our previous mission at the same time, as I did not feel that you would wish to retain the Goa'uld's symbols on your arm. I am concerned, however, that your mental status remains diminished."

"My 'mental status' should be the least of your concerns right now, Thor," Jack replied agitatedly. He lurched upwards as though to try and grab Thor, but failed, and fell back into the unit. "What about my team, what about the SGC?" he demanded, panting as he lay there for a moment, taking a moment to recover his equilibrium.

"Your team is uninjured," Thor replied calmly. "The SGC suffered some damage, and several injuries, but remains operational. Sgts Fournier and Disney died, but I have been able to restore them. They are currently in the capsules next to you. However, I am more concerned about your own well-being at this point. You still appear to be discomposed."

"Yes, Thor, I'm discomposed alright. That's because you beamed me up yet again without warning and stuck me in that thing!"

"I understand that in your species, perceived inability to control your environment is a major cause of stress and mental illness," Thor replied calmly. "I have therefore made some modifications to my ship to assist you. Should you need to re-enter the stasis unit, I have authorized the ship's computer to accept your commands directly."

"What good will that do?" Jack replied, finally managing to pull himself up to a sitting position. "Every time I end up in your stasis unit it knocks me out, so how can I give it any commands?" As he talked, he managed to climb out of the medical unit. He stood next to it, and looked down at Thor expectantly.

"Speech is not necessary, O'Neill. If you think about what you desire, that will be sufficient."

"Telepathy, cool," he replied.

"It is not, strictly speaking, telepathy," Thor replied. "Rather, the computer interfaces directly with your brain. This normally only works with Asgard, however, because of your unusual genetic structure, I believe it will operate for you, and will allow you to access the ship's log and main controls. I hope that this would prevent a repeat of the situation you found yourself in with Lanthos."

Jack winced at the reminder once again of his unusual genetic structure. He wanted no repeat visits from Loki, or any others similarly entranced with his genetic potential.

"Well actually, a transporter blocker would be more use, Thor."

"No such device exists, O'Neill. I can however give you a communicator which will enable me to warn you in the future." He handed over a round jewel. "If you attach this to your 'dog tags', I believe they are called, it will adhere to them and become invisible."

"Thank you, Thor," he said, cautiously. "I appreciate your attempts to help me with this. But right now I need to find out what's happening with my people."

"I will escort you to your people momentarily, O'Neill. However, I must first apologize for our last encounter since we have not had an opportunity to speak since then. When Lanthos took over my ship, it was you who suffered at his hands. I had not anticipated the use of our transporter controls for the purpose of torture, or I would have disabled them in advance as well. I regret that I had to leave you in the hands of your own people to heal you; as you know, there was an emergency on my home world. I believe that the appropriate phrase is 'I owe you one'".

"Well, several actually," Jack said. "But you can start making it up to me by taking me to my people."

"Very well, O'Neill. But we will speak more of this later. Perhaps you would like to take a moment to change into fresh clothes before joining the group, O'Neill."

Jack looked down at the tattered uniform he was in, and took in the fresh BDUs Thor indicated. "Thank you, Thor, I'll be right along."

--------------------------------

Methos stared out of the window in front of him, transfixed. Hanging in front of him was a glorious view of the Earth in all its blue and green glory. It was breathtaking. A glorious contrast to his own somewhat battered appearance. Orbit was definitely a nicer place to be than the SGC just now.

The spaceship he was on now had strong similarities with the one he'd been on two millennia ago – but differences as well. The Asgard had not stood still technologically.

And they were still clearly operating on just-in-time principles in terms of their rescues. Not that he was ungrateful or anything for this _deus ex machina_; far from it.

As he watched, the vessel he was on slowly changed orbit, and inched cautiously closer to what looked suspiciously like a space station. Well, actually it looked like one of those cheesy cardboard box constructions from Dr Who. What was it, he tried to remember? Ah yes, the Ark in Space. His favorite, the fourth doctor, and Sarah Jane Smith, fighting the evil Wirren, who were busily taking over the hibernating bodies of escapees from a destroyed Earth. He sure hoped that this wouldn't prove to be a case of art imitating life.

As they moved closer, the Ark took on more form and shape, looking more and more high-tech, less BBC special effects. It loomed out over the darkness, a spinning spiral of white. They kept moving closer towards it, pushing Earth back to a mere corner of the horizon. At the point that it took up almost half his viewing field, the ship stopped moving. He stayed watching for a moment more, but it didn't help. Nothing about the space station - Ark, whatever - seemed familiar.

He focused on the shuffling sounds coming from behind him. Can't ignore the company any longer, he decided, and turned around cautiously. His not-so-friendly guards and various other hangers-on from the SGC had rejoined him. They appeared disoriented however, for which he could hardly blame them.

Sighing to himself, Methos ignored the newcomers, and turned to go over to what he recognized as the ship's log access, to see if he could find out what was going on. He'd only gone half a step when an arm reached out to grab him.

"Just where do you think you are going, Sir?" one of the SFs said. "You are still under arrest."

He turned towards the voice. Sergeant Mason was waving at a number of his somewhat stunned-looking SF colleagues, late of the elevator, and directing them to move closer and surround him. Discipline held, and they moved towards him.

He put his hands up, slowly. "Don't worry Sergeant, I'm not going anywhere. I was just going to see if I could find out what's going on. And the Asgard will be along shortly to vouch for me."

"It's OK, Sergeant," a familiar voice said. "He really is on our side. You can let him go."

He turned around to face Daniel, careful to move slowly and keep his hands where they could see them. "What are you doing here, Daniel?" he demanded. "Weren't you supposed to have evacuated the SGC?"

"Yes, Daniel, just why are you here?" Major Carter said, as she walked into the room.

"Um, yes, well, I wasn't really going to leave you and Jack by yourselves," Daniel muttered, looking sheepish.

Methos watched as the Major took in the scene, considered for a moment, and then waved off the SFs.

Methos noticed that they were still eying him warily. "OK, so why don't we all just relax for a moment, take stock and get our bearings," he suggested. "I believe that that dispenser over there will provide beverages and food."

"Good idea," Daniel said, and started heading for the dispenser. Methos saw him eyeing a plateful of pills.

"This is food?" Daniel asked.

"The Asgard version," Methos replied.

Methos watched as Daniel picked one up and cautiously sniffed it, put it down and picked up another one.

"Don't eat the yellow ones!" he and Major Carter yelled in unison. They looked at each other for a moment. He offered her an embarrassed smile, and she chuckled in response. He hoped it was a good sign.

-------------------------------

"Damn," Joe said.

He down stared down at his prisoner in dismay. Teal had inquired very politely who he was, then crashed back to unconsciousness. He took Teal's pulse – it was far too fast. Carefully, he unbound the bandage and checked the wound. It didn't look good – the wound was bleeding again.

Joe tried applying pressure. After a few seconds, the bleeding did slow. He kept his grip firm, and retied the bandage tightly. Joe looked down at the growing pool of blood. Teal was looking paler by the moment, and clearly needed a transfusion. If he didn't want to be responsible for a murder, he was going to have to call an ambulance. Reluctantly, Joe limped over to the phone.

--------------------------------------

As Jack followed Thor down the corridor, he could hear the sound of human voices. The door slid open, and Thor entered. He paused for a moment to steady himself, and then followed. Cautiously, his eyes swept the room. Quickly he picked out Carter, Adams, and _Daniel_. He did a headcount. To his relief, everyone from Level 19 – and more – were present.

He glared at the unexpected addition, who smiled back at him happily.

"Jack!" Daniel said. "Are you OK? Thor said you needed treatment, were you hurt by the bomb?"

Daniel walked towards him, and then reached out to grip his arm in reassurance.

"Yes, Daniel, I'm fine, not even a scratch thanks to Thor. And you're okay too I see. Despite disobeying my orders?"

"I transported Daniel Jackson aboard because I believed we would need his services to disable Thrynheim," Thor interposed gracefully. Jack noted Daniel's grateful glance at the Asgard and vowed to take this up again later.

Jack raised an eyebrow at Thor. "Thrynheim?" he queried. He narrowed his eyes as he saw both Daniel and Lt Adams' heads jerk up at the unknown word.

"Thrynheim," Daniel said. "Idun's hiding place. That's Thrynheim?" he asked, pointing out the window.

Jack glanced out the window, and almost backed away in shock. Outside the window was a honking big spaceship of a type he had never seen before.

"What's Thrynheim?" Carter cut in.

"In Norse mythology, Thrynheim was the home of the giant Thiazi. Loki helped him capture Idun, the Goddess of Immortality, causing the gods to age rapidly, and become wrinkled and gray. When Loki confessed what he had done, she was rescued, and her apples once again restored the Gods to youth," Daniel replied.

Jack glared at Daniel, who stopped abruptly as Jack waved a hand at him. "That's all very well, Daniel, but I'm hoping Thor might give us a more contemporary explanation." He looked meaningfully at the Asgard.

"In this case, it is the name of the space station that is currently causing difficulties to your planet," Thor replied, not looking at them.

"But Thor," Carter said, "A Norse name means its Asgard right? So just why is it causing us problems if it's an Asgard vessel? Can't you just tractor the ship out of the way?"

"Thrynheim is operating in automated defensive mode, Major Carter," Thor replied. "And it has considerable defensive capabilities. I believe that it will require the particular skills of all of SG-1, as well as the assistance of Lt Adams to deal with the situation."

"All of SG-1 are needed to disable that ship over there?" O'Neill demanded. "So what about Teal'c?"

"I have been waiting for him to leave the company of others so I can beam him up," Thor replied. "However, I have not yet been able to beam him up without being seen by others of your planet. Be assured that I will beam him up as soon as a suitable opportunity presents itself."

"And what about Lt Adams here. Why do we need him?" Jack said suspiciously. The Lieutenant smirked at him, but then turned to stare at Thor meaningfully.

"Yes, Thor," he said in a silky voice. "Just why am I invited to this little party?"

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Please, do drop a line say if you like it.


	23. Suffer the little children

Revised 10.23.04

**Chapter 23: Suffer the little children**

Methos turned away from the tense little group and stared out the window at the looming spaceship. Please, Thor, he willed, don't spill the beans on me. He tried to steel himself for the effect of the revelation.

"Colonel O'Neill, I am becoming concerned about the status of Teal'c," Thor said.

The abrupt change of topic left Methos bemused.

"His life signs have been declining for some time now," Thor continued. "His heart rate now seems dangerously high."

Teal'c was one of the Jaffa he'd met earlier, Methos realized. The man who had attended the original briefing and had gone up in the death glider. He wondered what had happened to him.

"Beam him aboard then, Thor," the Colonel replied, sounding concerned. "What's the problem?"

"I can't tell without examining him. However, he is in the company of another human, O'Neill, and not one of your personnel," Thor replied.

"Never mind, bring him up anyway. It's not like the guy behind will have any proof, and we can deal with any fallout later."

"Very well, O'Neill."

A second later, Teal'c appeared in front of them, and sprawled on the floor. Methos took in his disheveled appearance. The alien no longer looked the formidable warrior he had previously appeared to be. His shoulder was tightly bandaged, but with a large red spot seeping through. And his hands and ankles were tightly bound with duct tape.

--------------------------------------------

"What is it, Colonel Dwyer?" General Hammond said disinterestedly as he looked up from his desk at the man entering his office. He'd been staring at the same reports now for almost half an hour, unable to really focus on anything but his missing friends.

"Sir, I thought I had better come down and tell you myself. We've started to collate the Intel from the beam-down locations, and there is a consistent pattern. But it's pretty weird, Sir."

General Hammond's interest picked up. This is why he was here after all, and he couldn't let the deaths of a few colleagues, however dear, distract him. He looked up at the tall, dark-haired man in front of him.

"So, what have you got, Colonel?"

"Sir, at twenty of the sites so far, they've got reports of, um, abandoned babies."

"Babies!" he said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir. There are no indications of hostile activity at any of the beam-down sites. But we are getting reports of abandoned newborn babies found at all of the locations Major Carter gave us. From all accounts they seem to be perfectly normal."

General Hammond stared at him, trying to work out if this was some elaborate joke.

Dwyer stared back, unwavering.

Clearly not a joke. But could it be some twisted Goa'uld trap, Hammond asked himself? Perhaps the babies were infected with some alien virus that would attack their carers? Or had nanobytes swimming in their bloodstreams, ready to create miniature naquadah bombs within their bodies, as the Goa'uld Nirrti had done with Cassandra.

He shuddered – Cassandra had been the only survivor of a plague unleashed on her planet. SG-1 had rescued her, brought her back to the SGC. Only to discover a naquadah bomb being assembled within her heart by the miniature robots in her bloodstream. In that case, Niirti had programmed the bomb to be triggered by proximity to the Stargate. Cassie had survived deep in an old nuclear bunker – shielding intended to protect them from her had saved her life. She had then proceeded to worm her way into all of their hearts. Dr Fraiser had formally adopted her, but all of SG-1 were her de facto parents, giving them the family ties they all missed.

Invasion of the exploding babies, he thought, just diabolical enough to be something a Goa'uld would do. It sounded like some 1950s B-grade movie.

What a nightmare, he thought to himself, as he started issuing orders to try and quarantine the foundlings, and give them all MRIs.

----------------------------------

Jack rushed over to Teal'c, and started removing the tape. He let out a sigh of relief as his friend's eyes blinked, then opened, taking in his surroundings.

"What happened to you, Teal'c? No, that can wait." He turned around, and waved at Daniel. "Help him to the medical unit, Daniel, Sergeant," Jack said.

"I am able to walk, O'Neill, do not be concerned," Teal'c said, and started trying to get up. Jack snorted in disbelief.

"No you don't, Teal'c. Let them help you."

Jack gestured, and Daniel and Sergeant Mason moved in. They propped him up between them carefully, maneuvering around to avoid Teal'c's wounded shoulder.

"O'Neill," Teal'c said, gesturing at his helpers to stop before they reached the doorway.

Jack turned back around to face him.

"I believe it would be wise to take my abductor into custody. He was waiting for me in Daniel's apartment and appeared to have some knowledge of the Goa'uld. Beware of him, however. Although he is kek, he is well-armed and a cunning warrior."

"Kek?" Jack asked. He wondered what that meant in this context. The bitter memory surged to his mind of Teal'c describing himself as Kek after he had lost his symbiote. Teal'c had described himself as already dead - ready to commit suicide - because he felt weak and unable to continue serving at his old level of strength.

"He is disabled – he has no legs," Teal'c replied.

"You mean a man in a wheelchair managed to capture and injure YOU like this?" Jack replied incredulously. Out of his peripheral vision, Jack couldn't help notice Adams stiffening slightly, and moving over to pay closer attention to their conversation.

"He has pretend lower limbs," Teal'c replied with dignity. "And despite his weaknesses, he proved a formidable opponent." He sagged between his two supporters.

"You mean prostheses?" Adams demanded.

Teal'c bowed his head towards him.

"Okay, Teal'c, we'll be careful of your one-armed man," Jack replied. "Now get to the infirmary before you pass out."

"I believe he has both of his arms, O'Neill," Teal'c replied, raising an eyebrow at him. The effect was weakened by the wavering voice and the paleness of his face.

"Don't try and tell me you haven't watched The Fugitive ten times Teal'c," he replied. "Now get out of here."

He turned back to face the ship's commander. "Thor," he said, "if you wouldn't mind bringing up another guest?"

A moment later, another body materialized in the middle of the floor.

-----------------------------

"What is it, Colonel?" General Hammond said, carefully replacing the phone in its cradle as Colonel Dwyer entered his office.

"Sir, I have the preliminary reports you ordered on the babies," the Colonel said. "Fortunately two of the local ones ended up at the Academy Hospital, so they ran some routine tests on them even before we put in the request. Bad news, Sir, they check out as absolutely normal so far."

"That's hardly bad news, Colonel – would you like innocent babies to be the frontline troops for an invasion?" he replied severely. General Hammond frowned. "How conclusive is this, Colonel, what tests have they done so far?" he went on more gently.

"The babies were suffering from mild exposure when they were first found, but recovered pretty quickly. Nothing showed up on the MRI; no viruses; definitely no naquadah or nanites. In fact, they both had perfectly normal O-negative blood. It'll be a day or so before the DNA and a few other tests come back, but so far we've got absolutely zip."

"Well, assuming the rest of the tests come up clear, it does leave us with something of a puzzle," Hammond said. "If the babies aren't the threat, why were they beamed down?"

-------------------------------

"Joe!" Jack heard Adams exclaim.

"Well this sure is a fancy ambulance you've got here, um, Michael," the new arrival drawled with considerable aplomb, as his eyes swept his surroundings, and fixed on Lt Adams.

Jack gritted his teeth as Adams moved quickly to the new arrival's side, and started helping him to stand up. He clenched his hands behind his back to stop himself from throttling the man on the spot. No one harmed his team, and got away with it.

Jack forced himself to study 'Joe' and see what he could learn before he intervened. Appearances could be deceptive, he told himself. If it hadn't been for Teal'c's warning, and Adams' recognition of him, he would have been convinced that Thor had beamed up the wrong man. 'Joe' looked like a perfectly harmless - albeit rather haggard looking - man in his late 50s or early 60s. He had silvered hair, and a deeply lined face.

He was also looking none to steady on his feet.

But then, being suddenly beamed onboard an alien spaceship tended to do that to you.

Jack watched as Adams shifted one of the ubiquitous Asgard control-stones. A second later a gleaming metal throne-like chair materialized in front of him. Adams carefully led his friend to it.

"Joe," Adams said again. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Are you sure we are on Earth?" Joe retorted, gesturing out the window. "And I could ask you the same question."

"Touché," Adams replied.

-----------------------------

Hammond grimaced as he put down the red phone. Explaining to the President that the world potentially faced a threat from an invasion of babies had not been easy – particularly as his advisors were getting twitchy on how to manage the public on this one.

For the moment, that meant continuing to pretend that everything was normal. And that in turn meant pretending that the planned NORAD Open Day would proceed tomorrow.

Well, at least he'd managed to get agreement that they would claim a terrorist threat had been made and cancel out on the day. In the meantime, though, it meant he had to deal with one of his least favorite people – the man whose job he was currently doing, and Jack's former nemesis.

He shook his head. The only bright side of Jack's long convalescence had been that he hadn't had to break the news that the man forced Jack out of Space Command eight years ago had returned as NORAD's overall commander. Well, he thought sadly, at least he'd never have to explain the bad news now.

His phone buzzed.

"General Holloway is on line 3, Sir," a voice said. No reprieve, even for a moment, he thought. Still, he could hardly refuse to talk to the regular head of NORAD. "Put him through, Lieutenant," he replied.

-------------------------------------

Jack took a step towards Adams. The rest of his team, automatically followed, moving to form a loose circle around the pair.

Adams looked up at the movement, then turned back to his friend.

"You can speak freely, Joe," he said to the man. "In fact, I think it might be a good idea if you started speaking freely post haste. These people are allies, but I don't think they much appreciate you hurting their comrade." Adams turned on an endearing grin.

"I'm afraid I've been living up to my reputation on the 'doing damage' stakes, so I don't think they'll accept my character reference for you."

"Well you got that right, Adams," Jack said. Just how many more little surprises are we going to find in your little war against the SGC, he wondered

"Good to see some things never change," 'Joe' replied before Adams could.

"Actually, I was trying to rescue you," he added to Adams.

---------------------------------------------

"George," Holloway said.

Hammond grimaced. He could hear the false bonhomie oozing down the phone line. He held the receiver further away from his ear. "What's this cock-and-bull story you people have been spinning? You've had me locked out of my own base for the last 48 hours and now I hear you're trying to stop my Open Day going ahead?"

"My apologies, General," Hammond said. He counted to three. "But I take it you have been briefed on the seriousness of the situation here?"

"Sure I've been filled in on your little alien war game. Look, you've had your fun, now I really need you to wrap it up so we can get ready for tomorrow. You _have _been told we are proceeding?"

Hammond swore to himself. How had this jackass managed to get himself assigned to be in charge of the Mountain? He must have been briefed on the SGC's activities, Hammond told himself. He had to be, in case a foothold situation got out of control, or some other disaster flowed on to NORAD.

Trouble was, although Hammond had talked to him briefly at the change of command ceremony a few days ago, he hadn't yet had the chance to give him the nickel and dime tour of the SGC. And, it seemed, the General wasn't going to believe unless he saw first.

"Sir, you are aware of the nature of the SGC's work?" Hammond replied.

"Sure, I've been briefed," Holloway replied, his tone light. "You guy's are having some fun, creating and playing out one of those doomsday scenarios some of the loonier factions of NORAD used to dream up to try and justify their existence. Now I can understand that: we need to keep the men on their toes and you research guys need to justify your existence." His voice hardened. "But you have to realize, we've been planning this Open Day for the last year. It's the first one since 9/11. Surely you can understand its importance in the circumstances?"

"General, I really don't think you understand," General Hammond replied, raising his eyes to the heavens. "This is not a 'scenario' as you put it. This is real. Right now we have possible invading forces in key locations across the world. Our primary defenses have been taken out of action, and a number of my key personnel, including my second-in-command, are missing in action, presumed dead."

"Yeah, sure, George, I get it," he said, his voice making it clear that he didn't at all. Hammond wondered who had briefed him. And how such invincible stupidity had managed to acquire three stars. "Anyway, since your 2IC's out of the game," Holloway went on, "why don't you get him to call my aide, and we can get things rolling for tomorrow?"

"General," Hammond replied, his patience rapidly running out. He felt his cheeks flush red with anger. "I really don't have time for this right now." George focused on keeping his voice under control. "For one thing, my 2IC, Colonel Jack O'Neill, is missing, presumed killed in action. For another, I'm expecting that we will have to claim a terrorist threat has been made, and cancel your Day out. If things change, and everything looks like being resolved before then, I'll call you back. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you would let me get on with my job."

"O'Neill!" Holloway almost spat down the phone. "You know, when I talked about loony factions, he's who I meant." The oil had vanished from the voice. "I had O'Neill booted out of NORAD eight years ago, what the hell is he doing back? No wonder you people are off with the fairies. Now you look here, Hammond, you've been ordered to let this go ahead, and you will comply."

"General Holloway, I've been ordered to maintain our cover story and cooperate with you to this end, but I will not tolerate any disrespect to my officers. Colonel O'Neill has saved the Earth more times than I can count, and his loss is a major tragedy."

"See, General Hammond, here's where I have a problem," Holloway sneered back. "O'Neill always had this thing about aliens - seeing things that weren't there, convinced we were about to be invaded by little green men. And this whole thing has the ring of one of his con jobs all over it. So I'm ordering you to stand down from this scenario, and let the open day proceed."

"General, this is not a game. I'm in command of the Mountain at the moment, and you don't have the power to order me to do anything." He slammed down the phone.

He sat staring at it for a moment while he tried to calm down, then sighed, and picked it up again. "Get me General Jumper, please," he said.

--------------------------------------

"They sent a squad to your apartment," 'Joe' started explaining to Adams. "So I grabbed your laptop and got out. I needed somewhere to stay, and a way of getting to you in the Mountain where I assumed you were being held. I'd already taken a look at your very interesting little database, so I decided Dr Jackson was my best bet."

"Database, Adams?" Carter interjected.

"Just my records of the evidence I found of possible alien activity on Earth," Adams replied offhandedly.

"So how did you manage to capture and injure Teal'c?" O'Neill demanded in a hard voice, focusing them back on the main issue.

"I figured if I could get a hostage, I could use him to get me into the Mountain. I figured they'd be a lot of people around NORAD tomorrow for the Open Day, and if I could set up a diversion, I might be able to get away with it."

"You obviously have combat training then, Mr., ah?

"Dawson," the older man ground out.

"Mr. Dawson," O'Neill replied. "Teal'c is a considerable warrior."

"I lost my legs serving in Vietnam," Dawson replied. "Anyway, it wasn't that hard. I set up a trip wire, followed it up by a burst from the tazer. Tied up your man while he was still stunned."

Jack stared back at him disbelievingly.

"Didn't entirely work though," he admitted. "Even after he was down and tied up, he managed to rip my legs off me. That was when I shot him."

Anger flooded onto Jack's face.

"I did warn him I would if he tried anything," Dawson added placatingly. "I wouldn't have done any serious damage if he hadn't moved at the last minute. As it was, I bandaged him up, but he managed to reopen the wound when we started talking. I just about to give in and call an ambulance when he disappeared. And then, here I was."

"It was impressive, O'Neill," Teal'c voice rumbled from the doorway.

He was on his own two feet, Jack was relieved to see, and his face had returned to its normal color.

"He is a warrior of considerable cunning and ability. And he was able to take advantage of my shock at his false legs. I have never seen such a thing. On Chulak, anyone with such injuries would have chosen the path of honor."

"Just as well we aren't on Chulak," Jack muttered back. He ignored Teal'c's raised eyebrow. "Good to see you back, T," he added more loudly.

"Anyway, Jack, perhaps, we should take the time to introduce each other properly, and dispel any remaining misunderstandings?" Daniel said, as he walked forward from behind Teal'c.

"Alright Daniel," Jack said. "Do your stuff. While you're doing the spiel, I really need to brief General Hammond. Thor, can I use your hologram thingy?"

-------------------------

General Hammond looked up, startled, as someone cleared their throat in his office.

"Jack!" he exclaimed. "You're alive!"

He leapt out of his seat and moved towards him. But as he reached out to touch Jack, the image shimmered, and he found himself reaching through an apparition. He deflated for a moment, before realizing that this was Asgard technology he was seeing, not a ghost.

"Yes, General," Jack said, clearly amused. "Thor did his thing once again and saved us. Have to give the Asgard their due, they've got great timing. Oh, and we picked up your disappearing man from Adams' apartment as well, by the way."

"Hold on Jack, just a moment," he said. He reached over to the intercom, clicked and said, "Ask General Carter to come and join me as soon as possible, please. He's down with the rescue team."

He hesitated suddenly.

"Hold on a moment," he said. He turned back to the hologram image of the Colonel. "You have got Carter up there with you haven't you Jack?"

"Yes, Sir," Colonel O'Neill replied. "Carter, Daniel, Teal'c, Mason, Adams, one Joe Dawson, and I think four other SFs."

George Hammond suppressed his momentary surprise at the inclusion of Teal'c on the list, and clicked the intercom back on. "Lieutenant. Tell the rescue teams to hold the search, all the missing personnel have been located. Snap to it." He clicked off the intercom before anyone could argue with him.

"Alright, Jack," Hammond said expansively. "Fill me in."

-----------------------------------------

Jack moved away from the corner of the room, and returned to the rest of the group.

"OK, Thor, now that that's done, let's get this show back on the road. Tell me more about that spaceship over there," he demanded.

"Indeed, the situation regarding Thrynheim is becoming most urgent," Thor replied. "Thrynheim is a genetics laboratory – a Goa'uld laboratory."

Jack paled. The implications of yet another piece of the ethics-free research being conducted by the Goa'uld right on Earth's doorstep were terrifying.

"You mean like Nirrti?" Major Carter demanded nervously.

Jack sympathized. Carter had come close to seeing her body dissolve in front of her in their last encounter with the female Goa'uld.

"You are correct, Major Carter," Thor said, "Like Niirti, Idun was searching for the perfect host."

"But you called it Thrynheim – and I thought Idun was an Asgard?" Daniel queried.

"That is partially correct," Thor replied. "Her host was Asgard. She, however, was a Goa'uld. Her experiments involved blending human, Asgard and the genetic material of certain other races. And your world has been acting as a nursery for the products of this research."

_Nursery_! Shit, what horrors were about to be revealed?

"I do not understand, Thor," Teal'c interjected. "Jaffa legend states that Asgard cannot be taken as hosts."

"That is true now, Teal'c," Thor replied. "After we discovered what had happened to Idun, we were able to genetically modify ourselves to prevent a recurrence. Unfortunately, it was this modification that sealed our inability to reproduce except by cloning, and now threatens our ability to create new bodies for ourselves at all."

"So how come the laboratory is still operating?" Jack asked.

"We were able to defeat Idun," Thor said, "But she was destroyed in the battle. When we discovered Thrynheim here, we found it was both automated and well guarded. We have not been able to shut it down."

"So the beam-downs I detected were the research subjects being transported to Earth?" Carter asked.

"That is correct, Major Carter," Thor replied. "Thrynheim has been programmed to produce babies with a range of gene variants, and then transport them to Earth to be fostered. Perhaps because of its impending destruction, the laboratory has recently accelerated its production. It had started beaming an increasing number of babies to locations inhabited by older products of the experiments."

"Babies?" Adams said. His voice sounded tight. "This is where the foundlings come from?"

Foundlings! Jack swallowed convulsively, and tried to formulate the right question.

Carter jumped in before he could. "Are they like Cassandra," she demanded, "Programmed to explode or something?"

"No, certainly not," Thor replied quickly. "Let me assure you that none of the children pose any threat to your planet's security," Thor said.

Well that was a relief at any rate, Jack thought. Foundlings. He found himself repeating the word over and over in his mind. And I allegedly represent the next step in human evolution. The key to solving the Asgard's evolutionary dead-end.

"Am I one of them?" Jack ground out.

--------------------------------

Feedback, pretty please?


	24. Revelations

**Author's note: **Thanks as ever to Teri, Jezowen and Village Mystic.

**Revised 11.24.04**

**---------------------------------------------------------------**

**CHAPTER 24: REVELATIONS **

Methos waited impatiently as Thor dispatched the remaining SFs back to the base, and ushered SG-1, himself and Joe to what passed for a conference table on an Asgard ship. Well at least it was round, he thought, even if its surface consisted of what looked like stacked up metallic tiles permeated with deep indentations.

He should, he knew, be anxious to learn more about the implications of Thor's revelations for him, and for all immortals. Joe, he could see, was dying of curiosity. Instead, though, he felt utterly detached. The origins of immortals in general – or himself in particular - seemed purely of academic interest.

Instead, he was preoccupied with learning the truth about O'Neill. It was as if he had been watching a TV program about some stranger he'd come to empathize with. The latest installment of 24 perhaps. And the timer had clicked to end the hour, leaving him with the cliffhanger.

It seemed to take forever, but was probably only thirty seconds or so before they all managed to find a perch or position that wasn't too uncomfortable, stopped shuffling, and looked at Thor expectantly.

"It is true, O'Neill," Thor said. "You are indeed a product of this program. I believe that your ability to download the Ancients' database was because you have some Ancient genes as part of your make-up. As well as some Asgard material. I have always considered you to be one of our children."

The little alien turned his limpid eyes on O'Neill.

"One of my children," Thor amended. "Some of my genetic material has been incorporated into your genetic matrix."

"The resemblance is obvious," O'Neill cut in sarcastically, breaking into the moment. "The moment I saw you I felt like I was looking in a mirror."

"He didn't say he was your twin, O'Neill," Methos interjected. "Just the contributor of a few stray genes."

"Not Danny de Vito?" the Colonel said mock-sadly.

It was a good act, Methos thought. But somewhat undermined by his reluctance to meet anyone's eyes.

Methos didn't sense any signs of pre-immortality in the Colonel. But he assumed he must be - that the spaceship out there was the source of immortals. Idun had been the goddess of immortality, after all. Methos eyed Thor speculatively.

"Somewhat more than a few genes," Thor replied. "The Asgard once looked as humans do," he added, "as SG-1 will recall from the Asgard that Heimdall was studying when Osiris attacked my ship."

The Colonel was pretending to study his hands intently, Methos noted.

"So how did your genes get to be part of Idun's experiments, Thor?" Methos asked for him.

"The Asgard practice genetic engineering has been our undoing as well as our hope for salvation. But there are strict controls placed on the operations of scientists in this area. So strict that several have rebelled."

Methos could see Carter wincing. He wondered what had happened.

"Idun was a scientist working in this field. Unbeknownst to us, however, Idun had become a host to a Goa'uld. She stole the genetic material of several Asgard, including myself – and our allies – and then hid her laboratory here above the Earth. She was trying to create the perfect host."

SG-1, Methos noted, were staring at their commanding officer with a mixture of wonder, pity, and compassion. Only Teal'c's face remained unreadable.

Methos watched as Teal'c reached over from his place next to the Colonel and placed an arm on O'Neill's shoulder.

O'Neill roughly pushed it away.

"Yes, well, hadn't we better get back to the main game here, campers," O'Neill replied. "Like dealing with Mother Hubbard's cupboard over there," he waved in the direction of Thrynheim.

The rest of SG-1 looked less than ready to let it go.

----------------------------------------

"So is it true that SG-1 are alive?" Jacob gasped out, as he crashed through the doorway of the Operations Center, trying to recover his breath as he spoke. "Sam's alive?"

George Hammond looked up and gazed sympathetically at his friend. Jacob must have taken the emergency shaft up from the SGC in order to get here so quickly.

"Yes, Jacob. They are all safe. Thor beamed them out in time, and Sam's with the rest of SG-1 aboard his spaceship."

"Thank goodness for evil gray little genius," Jacob replied, relieved. He collapsed onto a seat. "Mind you, I'll strangle his scrawny little neck when I get hold of him," he said. "Why couldn't he have called to let us know they were safe?"

George watched while his friend let off steam. He agreed wholeheartedly. Not that there was any point in raising the issue with Thor – in the end alien minds just thought differently, had different priorities. Something he'd increasingly noticed when it came to the man standing in front of him. He quickly pushed the thought away, though. For now, Jacob was acting exactly as he'd expect of the father of his Major Carter.

"Anyway, Jacob," he said, "let me fill you in on what's going on."

------------------------------

This was so bizarre, Joe thought. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would get to go into space and meet real, honest-to-God aliens. Least of all ones that looked like the Roswell pictures. And were in some sense the parents of immortals. He looked as Methos speculatively, but the old man's face was shuttered tight. He decided to jump in, and break the awkward silence.

"Okay, so I know about the Asgard," Joe said, gesturing politely at Thor. "But who or what are the Ancients?"

"Thousands of years ago, there was an alliance of four great and powerful races," Thor replied. "The Asgard, the Nox, the Furlings, and the Ancients. Together, we kept order in this and many other galaxies. But each in turn became the subject of an enemy we could not deal with, either singularly or collectively. The Nox revere life so much that they would not fight. They chose to withdraw to the Land of Light that they created, and hide themselves from their enemies."

"We've met the Nox," Dr Jackson added. "They saved our lives from the Goa'uld."

"But will not act to destroy the Goa'uld threat," Thor replied.

Pacifist aliens, Joe thought. Now I've heard it all.

"Can we get back to the point," O'Neill intervened. "I really think we need to deal with that thing over there before it crashes into something else, let alone creates more little O'Neill twins."

"I believe it will be important for all of you to be working from the same information base," Thor replied. "Lieutenant Adams is unaware of some of this information, and he may need it if your mission to Thrynheim is to succeed."

"I haven't agreed to let the Lieutenant come with us yet," O'Neill replied. "Call me old-fashioned, but we usually shoot people who try to blow up US Air Force bases."

Joe winced on Methos' behalf.

"Such an action would be ineffective, O'Neill," Thor replied, his eyes blinking slowly with what Joe took to be amusement. "Besides which Lt Adams' presence will be essential to the success of the mission," Thor continued. "I believe that further information exchanges will prove enlightening."

"Let's just speed up then shall we?" O'Neill said grudgingly.

Thor nodded, and then resumed his story.

"The Asgard withdrew to our home galaxy to fight the Replicators. When we returned, we found the Furlings and the Ancients had gone."

"The Ancients were the ones who built the Stargate system we use to travel to other planets," Daniel said. "But it's Jack who has had the most experience of the Ancients of the unascended-kind. We went on a mission where he managed to activate an Ancient data repository. It grabbed his head and downloaded all of its contents into Jack's head. It started taking over his brain – he lost the ability to speak English, and started building Ancient devices."

"It was lucky for me that he did," Carter chipped in. "I was trapped on a planet with a dud Stargate at the time. Jack was able to send me the plans to fix it. Then he built a device that took him to the Asgard home-world, and they were able to reverse the damage the database had done to his brain."

"Focus, people," O'Neill said. "Let's not get diverted."

"So why did the Ancients disappear? Are there any clues where they went?" Joe asked.

"We're not quite sure why they did it," Daniel replied. "But as to where, they ascended to a higher level of existence. I was one of them for a while."

Joe stared at him incredulously.

"So they were not immortals then?" Methos said, looking up at Thor.

--------------------------------------------

"Let me get this straight, George," Jacob said to his friend. "Holloway was Jack's CO back before the Stargate program started, when Jack was working in NORAD?"

"Yep," replied Hammond. "Holloway was a one-star back then, Command Director of the Alpha Shift, while Jack briefly headed up Space Command."

Jacob gasped, and started choking on his coffee. George reached over and patted him on the back, grinning as he did so.

"Jack was head of NORAD's Space Control Center?" Jacob said incredulously.

"Sure was," George replied, clearly enjoying himself. "Did a Ph.D in Astronomy after he was transferred out of Special Ops for medical reasons, and moved over here in '94."

"Does Sam know any of this?" He asked. "She'll be furious when she finds out - he's got that dumb SF routine down perfectly."

He paused for a moment.

"Although it was always obvious that he wasn't as dumb as he claimed," he muttered almost as an afterthought.

'Or you would have pulled rank on our joint missions', Selmak whispered in his mind. 'True enough' he replied silently.

"As far as I know he hasn't told any of his team," Hammond replied. "Jack actually asked me not to tell them as a personal favor. As far as I could gather, Jack regarded his whole diversion on to the scientific track as a time he'd rather forget. Didn't help that he was in the middle of a major fight with Holloway when his son Charlie died. He'd been trying to appeal to General Thryceson, the then-overall commander of the Mountain, when his son Charlie got hold of his gun and pulled the trigger. I gather he just crumpled at that point. Gave up and resigned."

"So what was it all about?" Jacob asked. "It's hard to imagine Jack getting so passionate about anything. From what I've seen, he normally just buckles down and follows orders – or not – without arguing much."

"Well, now, Jacob, here's the real irony. Seems Jack claimed to have detected alien vessels in Earth's solar system. Wanted the Government to launch some probes to check his readings, and start setting up a program to help defend ourselves against potential alien invaders. Holloway didn't accept his evidence - claimed Jack was just trying to make a name for himself."

"A case of the pot calling the kettle black, if ever I heard one," Jacob replied. "I've never met a bigger publicity-seeker than Holloway."

"I agree," said George. "But he's a brown-noser – wouldn't want to support something that would be as unpalatable as Jack's message. Holloway was trying to get him court-martialed at the time he resigned. And I'm pretty sure he was responsible for suggesting him for the Abydos mission."

"But surely if he knew about the Stargate he would have worked out that Jack was probably right?"

"I don't think he did know about the Stargate," George replied. "Just that they were looking for someone with both a Special Forces and a scientific background. And someone they could send on a suicide mission."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Immortals?" O'Neill demanded.

"The Ancients were not immortals." Thor replied, ignoring the interjection. "Although you are correct in assuming that immortals are also the product of Thrynheim."

"So what's an immortal?" Daniel demanded, echoing the Colonel.

"Both Joe and I are Watchers," Methos said slightly too quickly. He slowed himself down deliberately. "Members of an organization that has chronicled the lives of a group of men and women who stay forever young. Immortals do die – in fact, they age perfectly normally up until the point of their first death, but then they stay the same, physically at least, forever. If they are killed or wounded, their body just repairs itself. Watcher records go back over two thousand years, and we know of immortals aged over 5,000 years old. And they are all foundlings."

"And they can't be killed permanently?" Daniel said.

"Well they can, but it's extremely difficult to do," Adam replied.

"Well that's all absolutely fascinating," O'Neill replied. "Brother."

Methos flinched. Whether it was biologically true or not, the word 'brother' would always be tainted by his memories of the men he had rode with as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Would always call to mind the twisted relationship he had had with Kronos, Silas and Caspian. Men he had killed – or arranged to be killed.

"And so when was your first death?" Daniel asked.

"I said I was a Watcher, not an immortal," Methos replied, trying to maintain his calm.

Joe looked pointedly at the ground_. 'Et tu_, Watcher,' Methos thought at him.

"Come off it, Adam," Daniel said. "You look exactly the same today as you did twenty years ago when I first met you."

"Well I was infested by a Goa'uld, wasn't I," he replied defensively. "They artificially extend the lives of their hosts."

Joe almost jumped up in his chair, startled. Methos ignored him.

"So just when was it that Thor rescued you and extracted the Goa'uld?" Daniel demanded. "When I interrogated you in the SGC you made it sound like you had been around when the Goa'uld Ra was finally thrown off the Earth."

Methos cursed his loose tongue.

"And you managed to survive two zat shots, and have an energy signature that exactly matches that of Thrynheim," Colonel O'Neill contributed.

"I can explain that," Methos replied, desperately scrabbling to think how.

O'Neill didn't give him a chance.

"Major Carter, I believe you have a weapon?" O'Neill said, before Methos could come up with a story to keep him at bay.

Carter nodded, and then drew out the sidearm one of the SFs had insisted she keep. She raised the gun up, and pointed it at Methos with a steady hand.

"Do I have to get Major Carter to shoot you and see if you come back to life?" Colonel O'Neill said.

"Oh alright," he said. "No need for that, I give in."

O'Neill gestured him to start speaking.

"Alright, alright, I am an immortal."

Glancing at O'Neill for permission, Major Carter lowered the gun.

"So shooting you would prove – ineffective?" he asked.

"Oh, I would die," Methos replied. "But I'd revive again."

"Terminator lives?" O'Neill said.

"Something like that," Methos said.

"So how did you come to meet Thor? Didn't you say you had been a Goa'uld?"

"I was taken over by the Goa'uld Death, did a few nasty Goa'uldy things. Then Thor rescued me. End of story." He looked around. A look of sudden understanding, and then satisfaction was spreading across Joe's face. Methos grinned momentarily at him.

"Anyway, shouldn't we be getting on with doing something about Thrynheim?" He said, desperate to move the conversation on before the memories surfaced once more.

"I'm sure we can spare a few more moments while I get to know one of my siblings," O'Neill drawled.

"We're hardly that," Methos returned. "After all, you don't have the energy signature. And I'm almost certain you are not an immortal."

"No, he is not an immortal," Thor replied. "That's why SG-1 will need your help to get on board Thrynheim."

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"What can I do to help get the bastard, George?" Jacob asked. "I've never liked Holloway, and with what you've told me now – there's no way we can afford to leave him in a position like head of the Cheyenne Mountain Center. Think of the damage he could do to Earth's security, never mind the effect on Jack."

"I know," George replied. "I knew there'd be trouble as soon as I heard he was being appointed to the Mountain. But I heard about it too late to block the appointment. Hell, I even called the President – but what with the election and all he wasn't very interested. Besides which, it seems Holloway has some backers."

"Not Kinsey again?" Jacob groaned.

"I haven't got any proof," George replied, "But that'd be my guess. He served as an attaché to one of Kinsey's Committees several years back."

"As for Jack," Hammond went on. "I'd planned to put someone else in charge of NORAD liaison – fortunately Jack's been either off world or out of commission for the last few weeks – but I was waiting to find an excuse to tell him. Well actually, I was trying to psyche myself up to telling him the news - I even made sure he didn't get the memo about Holloway's appointment."

--------------------------

"See, here's where I have a problem, Thor," Jack said. "You want us to rely on 'Adams' here to get inside Thrynheim. But so far he's done his best to stop us finding it in the first place – I'm pretty sure now he sabotaged our data. Then he crashed our computers and tried to blow us up. Now you're telling me he's my long-lost brother, and has to be on my team?"

"But I thought you were Goa'uld, invading Earth," Methos protested.

Thor waved a hand to stop him continuing.

"I believe we should discuss this privately, O'Neill," Thor said. "Perhaps the rest of the group could start preparing for the assault on Thrynheim."

Jack nodded his acquiescence.

"Major Carter, the first stage is to get aboard the laboratory. I believe that this can be accomplished by modifying my ship's transporter beam so that its shielding modulation matches that of Thrynheim. If you would assist my technicians with this?"

Carter nodded her agreement. An Asgard appeared at the doorway, and she got up and left with him.

"There is a second problem, and that is obtaining the correct code to deactivate the controls on the ship. While I have narrowed the options down to several dozen permutations, the number might be further reduced with appropriate study. I have obtained some material from Idun's other records that I believe may be helpful in this regard. They are, however, written in Asgard runes. I would ask that Dr Jackson and Lt Adams study the data."

"I can probably help as well," Joe said. "If the language is anything like Norse, that is. I've got some pretty good training in ancient and medieval languages."

"Very well," Thor agreed. "I also have plans of the vessel. Teal'c, would you please study them and develop a recommended plan of action once we are onboard?"

Teal'c nodded his head gravely.

He indicated another Asgard, who stood waiting to escort them to their assigned tasks.

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"What can I do to help, George," Jacob Carter repeated.

"Well, it's like this," Hammond replied. "The Tok'ra specialize in infiltration, right?"

Jacob nodded. He was beginning to see where this was going.

"Holloway has been demanding that I appoint a liaison officer to start organizing for his precious Open Day tomorrow. He was all set to arrive at the front gate and barge in. I called General Jumper, to get him to cool him down a bit, but I figure I should throw him a bone. How would you feel about playing the defector from the SGC's camp?"

Jacob grinned back at his friend. "It would be a pleasure, George. Now how do you want me to do this?"

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"It's just me and you left, Thor," Jack said. "So tell me why I should trust Adams. Or whatever his real name is."

"I do not think that Lt Adams is the problem here, O'Neill," Thor replied. "Surely it is obvious to you that he was acting in what he thought were the best interests of Earth?"

Jack looked down, refusing to meet Thor's eyes.

"The man nearly took out the SGC," he muttered back. "He got closer to destroying our frontline defenses against the Goa'uld than Senator Kinsey, Apophis or the NID."

"Yet I don't believe that is the real issue, O'Neill."

"Oh yes it is," he replied. "It's all about trust."

He looked up abruptly.

Are you really my father?" Jack found himself blurting out.

"In a sense," Thor replied, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Although your genetic structure also incorporates material from a number of other sources. But I am proud to claim you as my progeny, nonetheless."

Jack shook him off, and stalked over to the window, and stared out at the laboratory where he had been created. I'm no one's child – not even truly human, he thought to himself. Just the product of a test-tube.

Thor appeared again at his side.

"I, too, am the product of a laboratory, O'Neill," Thor replied. "Am I any less the product of my parents' genes for inhabiting a cloned body?"

"Mini-me certainly doesn't think so," O'Neill muttered back. "I try not to think about it."

"Are your origins really so distasteful to you, O'Neill?" Thor said.

Jack didn't shift his gaze from the view of Thrynheim.

"You are still _you_, after all. Nothing has really changed."

"Everything has changed," he replied. "I thought I was defending my people, my planet. But I'm not even human."

"You were defending your people," Thor replied. "And you are as human as most of the other inhabitants of Earth are, or the anomalies would have shown up in your medical examinations. There are many inhabitants on your planet who are either from Thrynheim, or descended from its creations. But in any case, being human is not solely a matter of biology. Or do you regard your friend Teal'c, or Dr Fraiser's daughter Cassandra as less than human?"

"I suppose not," he replied, reluctantly. "Maybe I just need some time to get used to all of this," Jack replied.

"Time is one thing we do not have, O'Neill," Thor replied. "We must rescue the genetic material on Thrynheim as soon as possible before the craft is destroyed in your atmosphere."

Jack shook himself. "Well in that case, let's get this show on the road and do something about that damned dalek factory over there," he said decisively.

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End file.
